we had our seasons of sunsets, of city lights, of clouds, of metaphors. time is no longer my escape plan as a dark-haired boy with tanned skin shade can speed passed my life and i would just let him be with his fill-in lover to let him throw his life around like a confetti a few months after.
we had our seasons of commitment issues, of shouts and screams, of cold nights. freedom and love were his dreams but his only emotion now was fear. he feared a lot of things; he feared the solace in my letters, he feared the happiness in his. there's more to him than the abyss of defences. there's more to us than our seasons of everything.
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kalopsia
Poetry[ka-lop-se-a] Greek (n.) the delusion of things being more beautiful than they really are.
