My younger sister was like spring:
new flowers and blue skies one moment-
then lightning and rolling thunderstorms the next.
On the other hand, I was like summer:
blazing sunshine and endless consistency-
relentlessly bright and optimistic, no matter what.
But the heat breaks you, wears you down; and one day,
you wake up and realize that you want to be, need to be, different.
YOU ARE READING
seasons of my heart
PoetryLove: infinitely personal and consistently imperfect. Life: like the seasons, continues to move on; never stopping and always changing. Hope: the persistent light in the dark.
