Seasons

He is (was) my Summer. No matter how much time passes, I always remember him (us) the most when the tree out front blooms with white flowers; white flowers that the girls would rain down on me, pretending it was my wedding day. At one time in my life, I believed in a wedding. A strapless gown, simple, light beading around the edges. I would wear a tiara for fun. I was going to be a princess that day. The vows were written in my mind (on my heart) within months of our meeting. Lines from a song . . .

God Bless the broken road . . . . 

We fell in love under the shade of trees, while the children played, and we tried to ignore the heat of the sun (of ourselves). A visit after work, A/C broken, windows open, providing little relief. Hours spent making love and making conversation . . . neither one of us able to get enough of either . . . or each other.

I fell in love with him in June. A time of new beginnings, a love blooming with the flowers. The scents of lilacs and mowed grass making me smile a little, the pain no longer as intense.

He fell out of love in the Fall . . . of course.

I fell in love for the second time in the Winter. California had never quite adjusted to Midwest winters. A rare 60 degree day and we wandered around a small town, exploring shops, each other, allowing hearts to thaw and minds to open. The cold returned and cracks began to form. He hid himself under so many layers, I never really knew who he was. But a person can only remain hidden from themselves for so long.

We shared his first Christmas together. A last minute seach for a Christmas tree. . . his first . . . ever. The excitement when we found OUR tree. Charlie Brown would've been proud. He tied it so carefully to his car, a 35 mile per hour drive home and that smile, his beautiful smile.

Once we put it in water, will more needles grow back?

Really, California? I did my best to hide my laughter  . . .  It's still just a tree.

No, dear, its my FIRST Christmas tree. This one is special.

The perfect presents for me . . . .bringing tears to my eyes. A pen, two journals, and a book. Has anyone ever known me so well?

The tree lasted the short season. It only started turning brown when his demons came to surface.

Days missing . . . no phone calls. Excuses upon his return.

   Money lost that  I coudn't account for.

     Phone calls, texts, from someone else.

He chose his Addiction over me . . . of course.

The New Year came and brought a new beginning (ending) for me. I said goodbye and stumbled away.

How broken can a heart be and still function?

As the days become longer, the sun provides warmth, and not just light, I wonder about him . . . sometimes. I sometimes stop and wonder who he (we) would be if it wasn't for, well, himself? I wonder if I never knew him at all or if I fell in love with a ghost.

The trees are blooming again and my house is slowly becoming full of small glasses of flowers. A new love is blooming again . . . .with myself, with my words, with a pen on paper.

Spring, Summer, Winter, Fall. Yes, I've had a lover for them all . . . .