The sad part is that seasons are temporary,
and periods of transition can pass in the span of a heartbeat,
or in an epiphany that something about you is different.
I am not the same as I was yesterday...
A single moment steals-rips-the breath
right out of my lungs as if I never was permitted
to have it in the first place.
Life continues, same as always, for those around me, but I
feel as if I have died-losing my identity
in the blinding fury of the oncoming winter.
I am not the same as I was yesterday.
And I cannot find a way back.
Autumn was never meant to last.
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.
