Poems

{Seasons} Autumn to Summer

He was like Autumn. When he first came into my life, I was in the eye of the hurricane and he was the winds that circled me, threatening to ruin the few moments of peace. He was falling apart before he could even start to put himself together again. Leaves crunched under my boots, each crumple was a sign of my eagerness to see him as I ran to his door. My last Autumn date ended in my tears when I tried to kiss him but he refused and promised he'd never hurt me. He didn't realize that him leaving me hurt even worse.

He was like Winter. He became so reckless, I swore he'd never get better. I debated leaving him time and time again but it's nearly impossible for a moth not be drawn a porch light. His promises of protecting my heart eventually broke. He'd kiss me like December's first blizzard: Beautiful and delicate like ice crystals before turning rough and thoughtless when all the snowflakes are added up into a storm. He lived by the motto that actions spoke louder than words as he kissed me repeatedly but couldn't muster up the words "I love you." He stopped my heart with the swift cut of an ice blade.

He was like spring. The leather jackets and strong exterior vanished as if they never existed. He now walked with a purpose. If he couldn't live for anyone else, he'd live for himself. He appeared to have grown two inches by the way he stood straighter. And laughter echoed off the halls as he entered a room. Even with all the sharp edges gone, he could not erase his past. He still had jet black hair that framed his icy blue eyes. A winter blanket of snow can cover many things secrets and have a new slate that appears pure, but it cannot cover the rotting tree it froze last December. He may have planted seeds that became sunflowers in his heart but my internal bed was empty. No one had planted marigolds in my life. That April afternoon, I listened to him speak to almost everyone but me. I had become invisible. Oh, how I longed for him to see me. A selfish part of me wished time would turn back to the cold and unforgiving days of December-because at least I could pretend he loved me-but I knew time could only go forward and he would become better with time. Better without me. And before I knew it I lost his spring.

He was like summer. He became like the stars in the night sky on a June day. The ones you almost never see because the sun sets well after you've gone inside and locked yourself away. You may not see them but you know they're just as lovely. Over the long two months, I never crossed paths with him. Summer was like staring at the sun, it was like seeing no one. It was heartbreaking, without him in my life anymore. He stole a piece of me and I'll never by it back for he doesn't even know what he did with it. I gave him my heart and he tossed it aside. And now he's so awfully whole and I'm the unfinished puzzle because some pieces were missing. And there are two types of summers. The one that is too this or too that, never quite right. And then there's the summer that puts all the summers to shame and makes every other August day seem insignificant. I knew, he was the second summer for me. He came into my life and now no other summer will compare and I will live the rest of my life, knowing, I've already had my best. And like the seasons, he's came and left.