My mother, in an attempt to explain my changing moods,
diagnoses me with sad.
I finally ask what that means because, of course, I feel sad
and empty and unsure and lonely and confused.
She said that when the seasons change—when the nights grow longer
and colder—people can feel sad.
'Seasonal affective disorder,' she says.
In some ways, she is right.
Yet I wonder what it's called when the seasons change inside you,
and it feels like the sun has stopped shining in your heart.
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.
