On Seasons and Sentiments

November 9, 2011
When recalling that fateful day in March, I bite my bottom lip
Trying to contest the smile that threatens to overcome my face
A futile battle, in which my heart holds the most valuable weapon:
You, my love, are the unrivaled key to victory.

Springtime remains in the moments where our fingers are intertwined
And your lips graze my forehead—always the sweetest, most tender embrace
Yet so easily crushed; ‘tis but a rose petal that will wither away
Without the constant care it so deserves and longs for.

With summer comes along an overpowering surge of passion,
But the scorching blaze is short-lived—when August comes to a hurried end
We scramble, scouring our closets and bureaus for the warmest blankets.
Failed attempts to recreate the warmth felt in your arms.

The unwelcome guest that had been forgotten many months ago
Returns in one frigid gust, encasing our hearts in a layer of ice.
Oh, how mistaken I was!—how mistaken I was to ever believe
That I would live on unchanged by our fleeting romance.

Thus I wear my long sleeves, imprisoned eternally in winter
Catching snowflakes on a torn piece of lined paper
Run inside, my hopes high, I sprint to the freezer only to discover
The dreadful and melted remains of a love misplaced.





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