You are the grass of Spring, and loving you is like Fall. My heart is the leaves in golden blush, the hue of sunkissed skin in Summer; wrinkling, as if shy of the breeze, and softly toppling from boughs, avid to kiss the ground; and upon falling - shivering, as if caressed by the white dust of Winter.
Jul 24, 2015
Jul 24, 2015 at 5:21 AM UTC
You are the grass of Spring, and loving you is like Fall. My heart is the leaves in golden blush, the hue of sunkissed skin in Summer; wrinkling, as if shy of the breeze, and softly toppling from boughs, avid to kiss the ground; and upon falling - shivering, as if caressed by the white dust of Winter.
Who would have thought loving could be so bemusing as this? Like the Sahara with snow, or getting seared in the heat of Alaska. It is only by loving that things don't go as to what they have been all along. Like seeing no sparkle in your eyes, but stolen auroras in all the skies. Beautiful. Rousing. Imspossibly possible.
