My favorite time of the year, the indescribably nostalgic feeling that accompanies the the first rise of the sun, and the final set of the moon.
A common name for this is spring, but that word can only be used to describe the time that winter turns.
Spring to me is the fall of a bright pink cherry blossom, and a dream of other worlds, both fictitious and realistic. The meaning of nostalgia as I remeber long forgotten memories of precious things. A beauty in the air that cannot be seen.
It is a story to me. Countless stories whisking around my head like fairies, to fast to be seen clearly, but to slow to go un-noticed.
So, this is what I cannot live without. Stories. Spring is a giant beautiful one to represent my dreams, hopes, desires, and my failiures of the previous forgotten years, but also my successes. All of which is in the simple fall of a cherry blossom.
YOU ARE READING
Words, Falling From The Sky Like Spring Rain And Cherry Blossoms.
PoetryI sort of just threw in whatever and wrote something. I kind of reside with it though.
