It started in the late summer heat,
The questioning of one's self.
Who am I?
It's whispered in the blowing breeze by the sea, tell me can you taste the sting of the salt on your lips?
The ocean roaring in your ears drowning out the whispers that starts growing with the stretching shadows as the sun starts to kiss the line between ocean and sky.
How can the warmest of days chill you to the bone?
When the sun is at it's highest desperately trying to brighten you from the outside in, when the days elongate to keep the darkness out for just a little bit longer.
The breeze coaxes gentle laughter from your lips, brightening your eyes as it blows away the dullness, gliding across your skin calming the burn of to many scarred thoughts, etched into your skin.
Summer was when you realize no matter how long the days were, how hot they burned, no matter how bright the blue sky was, it didn't quite fill the gnawing hole within you, the missing puzzle pieces that got lost between the changing of years.
When the summer breeze grew colder, it forms a barrier within you that doesn't quit freeze over, it rather caresses the breaking pieces of you little, by, little like a forgotten lover protecting from the ghosts reaching between seasons to bury you within the dull days.
YOU ARE READING
Seasons Gone By.
PoetryThe vortex of season send out winds of small coaxing caresses like a lovers lips against my skin. The seasons send out a summers sun running across my body with a feverish need. Sighing in content as the cold fire crystallizes underneath my skin. ...
