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Seasons

            I met her in the spring. The palette of colors that painted that town with flowers seemed to come alive in technicolor when she was around. When a breeze drifted through the streets and collided with my skin, it felt like her gentle laugh. It sent the same shivers down my spine. When it rained, I liked to sit in my apartment and stare out the window as the raindrops blurred together into tendrils of her light brown hair. It was May and the clothes that never left my battered suitcase found themselves put away into drawers for the first time in months. Slowly my home felt like it was being lived in; like more of a destination and less of the usual rest stop. My soul was absolutely rampant inside of me, and it stopped me from staying in any place for too long. But the day I met her, saw her smile, I knew that she had become the anchor I needed. She was a place where my soul could rest.

           In the summer, she was both the bright, blazing afternoons and the calm, quiet evenings. She was my morning jog and my midnight bonfire―she was everything. As the months went on, her clothes began to mingle with mine in the dresser that would still be vacant had it not been for her. My apartment was no longer my destination, her arms were. Although, she was usually at my apartment anyway. I remember the way her bright blue eyes burst into unbelievable life the first time I told her I loved her. It was the fourth of July and the fireworks could not even hold a candle to the sparks I felt when she kissed me. She filled me with a warmth that I swore would last forever, through every bitter winter and every rainy day.

           But the weather started to get colder and her heart was with the changing leaves instead of me. I'd never seen a transition so seamless, yet so agonizing. When the leaves turned red, so did her cheeks, but instead of looking at me she was staring at a text from a lover I pretended she didn't have. It was October and as every day got colder, she got further away. Her clothes slowly began to disappear from my drawers and every day I would come home to a kiss goodbye. I could feel her slipping through my hands and although she'd always been stronger than I was she felt like broken glass against my skin. The leaves wilted to brown and littered the Earth before we even reached November and that was how I knew that winter would be coming early that year.

          It's January now. I've long forgotten the warmth of summer. The roads are clear, but I've felt snowed into my apartment for over a month. The ripped up pieces of the note she left me still lay on my bedside table and sometimes when I'm completely numbed by drunkenness I try to put them back together and picture her writing it. All that I see, god, every time all that I see is the pair of arms that she ran to after she packed up my heart with the rest of her clothes and pretended that I never meant a damn thing to her. Maybe I never did. Maybe that was why she couldn't face me. I wish that I could have told her that I hope he keeps her warm these next few months. I hope that he tells her that she's beautiful as often as I did and that he kisses her on the fourth of July. I wanted to tell her that I hope he can be everything I never knew I wasn't and above all I want to tell her to give me my damn heart back because I don't want to love her anymore. There are so many things I would have told her before she left without a single thought that held my name. I almost understand why she vanished without saying a word. Almost. But only because now I can't bear to see her either.

         The dresser is empty again now, and my suitcase lies in wait by the door. I guess that a ship cannot remain at the docks for too long without beginning to rot. It doesn't matter. My anchor has been cut. I will leave it on the ocean floor.

        I will drift forever.