It was October when I knew.

Leaves warm in color were scattered among my once green grass.

I spoke to you with tenderness in my voice, and smiled faintly when I heard the same in yours.

Conversations that had lasted until the dead of the night revealed the benevolence in you my hollowness was drawn to.

Then came California.

You stayed on the phone with me during a five hour plane ride in fear I’d be alone.

It was 2am on a Thursday back home by the time the plane landed, but you insisted.

The temperature rose to 80 degrees in Los Angeles and you still managed to riddle my arms with goosebumps.

The flight home seemed longer.

Then everyday seemed brighter than the last.

And Sorrow for the first time seemed ephemeral.

Autumn sunsets fingerpainted with pinks and oranges reflected vividly on my dull world.

I had experienced a different kind of sunshine,

And I swear I’ve never blossomed more.

But all sunsets turn to night eventually.

Soon my red leaves were replaced by icicles,

And the soft snow danced on my skin, leaving it’s frigid mark.

Then I heard you speak to her with the same tenderness in your voice.

It was October when I knew,

But by January it was too late.