spring

Some place good.

People have a funny way of disappearing. Coming in and out of your life as seasons change. I met you in the summer, and you lasted through fall and winter. By spring we couldn’t run away fast enough. We were so limited in our time together, and some days I feel like you couldn’t leave fast enough. You disappeared and expecting this all to go away. That leaving was easier than the need to stay. The winds of spring blew you away and the only thing I have left to show for it, are these scars of the coldest winter.

You weren’t suppose to leave, I was. I was suppose to tell you everything I felt and walk away from everything. You were suppose to have your heart frozen to stone and unable to sleep for weeks on end. You were suppose to replay my words until they become a recurring dream to you. To feel these words long after I have left. Haunting you like fog and disappearing through the clouds. You were suppose to be left with the corpse of who I used to be. But you left. You left and didn’t hesitate to look back. Here I am haunted by every word, as your face comes across every person I meet. You didn’t love me. As much as you implied it, you never once said those words. You seemed warm like fall but you were cold like winter. Never said a single word, unless it was to hurt me. I realize that now. After all these years I realized that what we had wasn’t love. And as much as I thought I loved you, in the end I knew deep down I didn’t. And it tore me apart. Because I wanted desperately to be with someone, to have that comfort in someone, but I knew it wasn’t you. I just wish it took me sooner to realize than later.

You were like all the seasons. Changing leaves to adapt to the ever changing weather. You only like someone for the moment when it’s convenient for you. Until you fly away and find someone new. I was a fool that believed in summer love that would last through fall, winter, and spring. I was stupid to believe that you would stay, when all you do is change color to who ever you want to adapt too. But this time I leave you in the summer. In the blistering sun and the swelling heat. Leave you begging for the fall and holding on for the winter. I can change just like you do. Only I change for myself and not anyone else. Thats something you haven’t grown accustom to yet.

You can watch the leaves fall. Changing colors from green to gold to brown to rust. Watch the winter rains swallow up the valleys and leave you gasping for more. I am not coming back, just so you know. I am not coming back. My summer skin has healed, now all I am left with is gold.

7/2/2011

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Under the big bright yellow sun.

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Spring is always the oddest of seasons. This in between season of warmth and cold air, that’s wrapped up with the rays of the sun. It always made it seem that our skin called out to the sun to shine with us so warmly. Taking away the harsh reminders of the winter months. Oh, how we flock to the sun with it’s magnificently golden rays turning every thing it touches into reds, yellows, and bright oranges. The way the wind dances through your skin and on to every tree branch. Watching the blossoms from the trees, flood the streets with rains of petals through the wind. The wind screeching like thunder from the rain. I think about that moment. How no matter how dark I dyed my hair it always radiated red undertones in the sun. How on that rooftop I spent drinking in the sun mesmerized by colors and fragrant reminders of moments trapped in the past. Out of the scrapbook of memories I always think about that moment.

Can you see it? Can you remember an instant where a season transported emotions in a memory?

How the winds changed course and how big and bright the sun was in the afternoon. I could have spent an eternity on that rooftop. Over looking the streets and watching people walking to god knows where. I loved the sun at that moment. I loved how cold the wind felt and how the warmth of the drinks changed my mood and thoughts. In that moment I felt every bit of spring. I felt the sun wrap me up in it’s afternoon rays of sunshine glory. I wish I still had those photographs. Photographs of springs spent careless in the sun and believing at that moment, everything was happening for me. Even the photograph wouldn’t show how much I loved that moment. How much I loved that rooftop and looking back how much I loved that fucking city.

Everything.

Under the big bright yellow sun.