a year full of life

i wish our summer days could die and be reborn into winter ones

summer days don't die,
not when i see your blinding smile in the morning and get to hold your hand in the cold.

that's exactly why this chill in my heart fills so striking and unfamiliar, like i'm living in a moment i know is just a dream. like if i took a photograph of us and looked back on it, i wouldn't recognize the warm smiles plastered on our faces - or maybe i would and instead of fondness i might feel only emptiness.

could we start over? maybe in a time that's colder, a time that doesn't feel so suffocating [a time where i don't love the weather more than i could fathom loving you].

maybe if we loved each other in the winter [and your warmth wouldn't be confused with the sun in the sky, blistering my skin and soaking my heart] when we fell upon summer, building sand castles and bathing in the sea would feel like something new and exciting [then saying summer days don't die might feel like a hope rather than a grimaced declaration of despair]

maybe if the lilies staining our roof sprouted in the winter [just like our should be love], our love in the summer wouldn't feel so frantic [we might have something to look forward to, rather than a sinking dread of the end].

maybe if you held my hand a little tighter, and sang sweet nothings in my ears a little softer as we swayed in the cool breeze of the evening, the time of the year wouldn't matter so much to me [but it does, and sometimes i can't differentiate your smile from the sun's harsh rays].