Seasons

I am not a season: not Winter, Spring, Summer, nor Fall. You cannot reduce me to a time frame that comes and goes, because I loved you — I gave you my all.

I am not Winter. A heart that melted, softened even, couldn’t possibly be cold and frozen. At your sight, at the sound of your voice, at just the thought of you — I’d be warm. I’d feel warmth that I always tried to warm your heart with mine.

I am not Spring. A love that kept on growing couldn’t be compared to flowers that bloom and die. Each day, I have loved you more (and just to prove a point) and I still do. It hasn’t withered because I still watch over it, tend to it, water it.

I am not Summer. An understanding nature does not torture like the scorching heat. When you said you were busy or had to move dates around, I sat and listened and was willing to wait. When you had felt the need to let go, I pulled back and gave you your freedom. When you wanted more time to think and think and think, I denied my right to speak and speak and speak.

I am not Fall. A grasp so strong unlike the leaves that easily fall. I was willing to fight and try harder. I wanted to take it a little bit further — make it last, make it better.

So don’t mock my love and reduce it to a season nor compare me to one. I did not invest time to just become a phase. I did not love just to be the “then” that comes after “I loved her”.

I am not a season. I am human that loved, loves, and is still willing to love (you).

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