I'm in highschool, a time where change is as expected as the seasons. Always changing, same repetition. Spring, Summer, Autumn, Winter. A never-ending cycle.

My Spring has  come and gone, the storms of thought sprung flowers in my brain and fresh leaves from my branches.
My Summer was sweltering, the fire in my eyes composed of the flowers being doused with gasoline. The passion grew until it reached a fever pitch.
My Autumn consisted of the leaves of my mind changing color, along with the hue of my hair and the shade of varnish on my nails. The pitch of my ambitions slowly sank to the sound of the wind.
In my Winter, the icy drifts snow-in my mind. My eyes can not see past my outstretched arm. The cold, numb feeling takes over my brain.

What if I am content with my flowers, or my fire, or my dull leaves, or my snow drifts? The flowers still wilt, the fire burns down to embers, the leaves fall from the branches, the snow melts away. Change is inevitable, and I'm never ready for it.