Dear Seasons,

I have already seen too many Christmas trees that hold empty promises for kids who hope for gifts that will make them whole. I have heard too many jokes about how the present I’ll be getting this year is actually coal. When they said this, I insisted because instead of gifts I believed I deserved it: coal, or nothing at all.

Summer has held promises too, but my body never seemed like a summer-***, so maybe next year my abs will be more clear and maybe my skin will be too. So, ***** spray tans, your mom’s rules, and small-town bullies. I want to be shirtless, free and love to be alive.

Fall is at least honest. She says to me, “You are alive, unlike leaves. Never let the winter freeze your heart over. And remind yourself over again that seasons come and go. So while you can, hold your lover’s hand as boots crunch death beneath its tread. Darling Life, we are not dead yet.

See Spring is my diving board for bouncing over waters of possibility that I will cannonball in to, where daydreams feel possible while rain drips on the coffee shop window pane.

I can breathe and remember that seasons are temporary and carry with them strength and change, whether we like them or not.

Dear Seasons, you are and always have been committing treason against my fragile heart, but you will not break me. I may be shaken but you will not break me. I may be broken, but I will keep living and not let seasons break my Knowledge of the Holy who gives me reason to teach and learn and grow as life changes its outfits.

Sincerely,

a tired soul