The wind stands fair,
The woods are still.
Not a crease in space,
Not a ruffle in time.
A strange stillness,
A bellowing quiet.
A hollowed out corner
In the face of the universe.
Oh, my love
We are here.
And we are running.
To where?
We challenge the odds.
There is always a choice
And there is always a chance
We must make it;
We must take it.
We are at a standstill
At the brink of morrow.
We are possibilities.

She’s a sunny day.
You meet her and her laugh makes your heart curl into your chest. You asked her out and she glow with happiness. You think that your heart was made to feel like this, or maybe it was made to complement hers.

She becomes a lightning storm.
You think she’s a masterpiece hiding in storm clouds, but you forget about the thunder. You don’t tell her how it feels to hold her hand, so she lets go. She moves on before you realize it’s raining, but when you do find out it feels like drowning. You spend the next six months trying to breathe.

She becomes the chill in the air.
You can breathe until she sneaks in beside the fall leaves. She comes back so quietly that you don’t realize until your heart starts to pound. You pause, but six months of overheating and a hurting heart make the decision. You choose to repeat, you choose the changing weather. Now you laugh together over a cup of coffee, and you think you know what happiness is.

She becomes a snow storm.
She’s slow and steady and if you hold her she’ll melt. When you tell you need her she’s already gone. The next time you see her it will freeze your heart over.

She becomes a soft summer rain.
You spend the summer months forgetting that girl with galactic eyes. One day you realize she pales in comparison to the summer sunset, another day you realize the ocean pales in comparison to her.

Beware of them who change like the weather; they live in cycles you’ll always fall out of. It’s better to admire seasons than people who embody them.

Beware of me.