Through the Seasons

an unfinished story, told through seasons ;

it starts in the withering grasp of summer,
the heat not nearly burning me as you had,
my feelings bloom just as the leaves fall,
our future now obscure, such as that of the fog that settles over the sky,
my own breath biting my warm cheeks,
soon spring will come,
and as new life comes, another day, hour, second passes
another page turns, blank
-without you