writing

We Were the Seasons

I desperately wanted the leaves to change. I felt that everything in my life was constantly the same, so much so that I was content to let the foliage die just so I could start over. How many times have I started over? I keep reinventing myself, the seasons change the scenery completely and with it changes my name, my look, and my story. How many times are the leaves going to fall before I find out who I really am?

We were all the seasons in one. You were the sun that I craved heat from, but at the same time, would get burnt over and over by and never learn to limit myself. You were the autumn leaves that I loved to see change, but never wanted to fall because you were so beautiful. And as you fell, you were the most striking you had ever been, and that scared me, because you were the most mesmerizing colors when you blew away from me in the cold breeze, right out of my grasp. Then the cold bitterness of your winter came along and sometimes, I loved the snow. But other times, I felt cold and alone and I just wanted to see the sun one more time. Then spring would come, and the flowers would finally bloom. The fields would fill with beautiful colors and I wanted to pick all the sunflowers I could find, yet as soon as I put them in a vase they would wilt and I would have destroyed you once again. I wanted to sit in the breeze and look for the most immaculate dandelion I could find, but once I found it the wind would blow all of its beautiful parts off and I would be left searching over and over.

I was always searching. Searching for a place that felt right, a place I would feel comfortable calling home and being myself. As soon as I got there, though, I wanted the next season. I never would stop searching, because as soon as I found what I thought I was looking for, I wanted something else. I was the moon, forever craving the sun, fully aware that as soon as the rays peaked above the horizon, my own light would be extinguished until I was without you once again.

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