You were like
that warm spring day in March.
You were my seventy degrees
the tulips poking through the ground
the first crocuses of the season.

You were the warm breeze
the shining sun.
You were my warmth
at the end of the winter.

but you were also a lie.

Because you became that snow
after snow
after snow
You were the less-than-thirty

The flowers froze
and crumbled.
The sun was still there
but it was a cold, harsh light.

You were kind and beautiful,
warm and bright,
but you were a lie.
You were my snowstorm in March.