Four Seasons

I have always been one to associate my past lovers with the seasons; for his lips tasted like lust on a late summer night full of temptations, and his arms wrapped around my naivety like a blanket keeping me warm in the winter.

But you loved me through all four seasons.

You were the clouds and the kiss in the rain last fall when we stumbled over our own two feet and fell in love with the blurred city lights. Our lantern rose higher than the rest, but it was me who rose above all the clouds inflated with pure joy.

And in the winter you kissed me under the mistletoe and now I can never go back to that iceskating rink. You broke down my walls brick by brick ever so gently and I let you in with no turning back.

As the flowers blossomed in the spring, so did my love, and I'll never forget the way your lip quivered and you smiled the first time I whispered those three words, eight letters. I fell in love with every dozen roses and you fell in love with every hand written letter.

And in the summer, I admitted that you felt like home, that I needed you, and that I loved you "more and most."

But autumn rolled back around once more and this time, toxins filled my veins as you fell off with the orange leaves-- oh so gracefully.

I found myself waking up every cold winter morning picking up the broken pieces of myself off the floor. You left me drowning in the deep end with your whispers of "always" still lingering on my skin. It was the longest, coldest winter.

But time does not slow down for anyone and soon the signs of spring showed once again. I used to breathe you in like the wind blowing all around, but I will no longer allow you to poison my lungs. This spring, I open my window and breathe in the fresh air. I am growing like the flowers around me-- watered by self-acceptance and self-love.

And soon enough, summer will come once more.