Thanks to you I feel like I'm living a longer spring than what I thought was posible and now I've grown used to sighs that taste like roses and lavander, rainbows in every pond, and ambrosy-like kisses.
I feel summer coming, but it's warmth doesn't trick me. The melting sun feels like the ****** to the symphony I didn't know how to write until we started making music.
And right behind summer comes autum as the last breath of life. Landscapes worthy of the best museums, all nothing more than a facade to hide the smell of death.
The circle closes with winter and everything that once bloomed in spring is nothing more than a memory covered in frost, in cold, in silence, in empy words, and painful goodbyes.
But right now, we are in spring and I foolishly hope that this relationship is located somewhere in the equator line where we can stay forever in spring.