Seasonable

With leaves falling everywhere and the wind getting sharper, I tend to think of him more. Snow and all its different variations, sugar with a little coffee and cream, checkered pajama bottoms, all of it ties back to him. I tell myself yearly that I have to let him go, that he can't consume my thoughts every day of every season. But it seems the only freedom I have from him is the summer.

Bright, beautiful, ever so warm summer. Summer is everything we never were, nor wanted to be. We were friends at most in the summer. It was a thrilling friendship, a harmless crush at most. Big beaches, absurd sunburns, and movie marathons. Our summer was alleviating.

Autumn... Autumn was timid. When I think of autumn I picture the nervous laughter, brief conversations, and awkward yet electrifying touches. I still hear the sound of the radio playing quietly and I still see his eyes staring deeply into mine, baring all emotions for the first time. Autumn was the fast, unprecedented fall. I resonate Camo bedsheets, chocolate milk, and his Xbox 360. Autumn was sweet, harmonious, and ever long. Autumn was what we hoped to be.

Winter. Winter, which has always been my favorite season, continued to be so when I was with him. He's absolutely gorgeous all times, but winter will stay his prime. He hates cold weather and he thinks me to be mad for loving it. His rigid, already pale skin manages to get at least two shades lighter. His red hair becomes slightly darker, making his emerald eyes look, if possible; even more enchanting. His plump, light pink lips get a menacing darker color. And his veins; a vibrant blue, are always more evident in the winter nights. His hands around my neck as my arms tightened on his hips left permanent marks of intimacy that I'll never be able to forget. His chattering teeth, heart wrenching cuddles, and dry humor still manages to send chills all over my body. We loved in the winter.

Spring, ironically, was the most devastating season. With the world at its prime our love slowly dwindled, as if the happiness was overcrowding us. We shared looks in crowded rooms that spoke symphonies and soon everyone learned that our relationship, or whatever the fuck it was, seemingly ran on light hearted jokes and the constant need for tragedy. Spring; where flowers bloom and plants grow, had our love abruptly uprooted and the sun watched as we wilted.

Every season holds a different part of him close to me. I will never be able to escape the memories of him, not that I would want to. I love him always and forever, and as the seasons go my love substantially grows. The nights when it gets too hard and heavy for me, I go out to the tree where we often visited. It doesn't matter what season it may be, the tree was alive when he was alive; so a part of him will always be with me. Sometimes I can hear his laughter through the wind rustling the leaves, and with my head against the trunk for a second I can imagine that it's his chest and I can hear his heart beating.

Seasons.

A year full of perpetual change. My love for him is the constant.