It used to be that it was simple.
Something fun
or something not fun at all.
It was all skirts sweeping across the kitchen floor
and warm eyes.

Blue or brown
it didn’t matter.

But sometimes it was different
it was sad and cold
and sometimes it was a cold blue.
Freezing and instant
but gone with the cracked door.
This wasn’t always to be the case.

Something new always comes
with the candles on cakes.
With the taste of candy corn,
sweet but false.
Change leaves an aftertaste of honey,
and something counterfeit.

Memory comes and goes,
time passes like the sun.
It soaks through my skin
and left me
warm. But cooling
with a lingering hug from an old friend.

There’s something about the feel of the sun
on a snow day.
The warmth thaws the ice,
the shudder of cold finally leaving
bathed in a pure joy.
Wisdom an old soul could only borrow.