Madness.
Our mood’s changed with the seasons.
And when Summer came, so did our laughter.
We found ourselves smoking and drinking; bodies full of warmth.
The sea washing away our sadness and the sun kissing our scars.
It was the season which held the most memories.
Gone now and replaced with the harsh bite of the wind on our fingertips, Autumn brought indifference and a yearn to recreate ones self.
The leaves changing colour like our souls, falling softly to the ground only to be trodden on by people whom come and go.
Not even the few burst’s of sunshine were enough to sustain us.
As the tree’s became bare and the wind icier, Winter brought the sadness.
And every raindrop counted for a tear down our cheek’s - the world was crying with us.
The hot mugs of tea and chocolate, though sweet, only heightened our bitterness.
Alcohol became our enemy, forcing our demons to the surface.
And only when the first flower blossomed was when we felt hope again; Spring was our rebirth.
We tied daisies together and wore them as crowns and a sense of carefree youth returned.
Though we remained meekly stung by the sadness, we knew that the song of the bird’s would lift our spirits, or hoped.
It seemed to be an endless season of wishing and waiting until eventually Summer returned with our happiness packaged inside the boxes we had stored it in.
And so it repeated and continued, each year held the same story though each season brought about a different cycle.
I often wondered to myself, how are they all so unaware of this madness.
And when Summer came, so did our laughter.
We found ourselves smoking and drinking; bodies full of warmth.
The sea washing away our sadness and the sun kissing our scars.
It was the season which held the most memories.
Gone now and replaced with the harsh bite of the wind on our fingertips, Autumn brought indifference and a yearn to recreate ones self.
The leaves changing colour like our souls, falling softly to the ground only to be trodden on by people whom come and go.
Not even the few burst’s of sunshine were enough to sustain us.
As the tree’s became bare and the wind icier, Winter brought the sadness.
And every raindrop counted for a tear down our cheek’s - the world was crying with us.
The hot mugs of tea and chocolate, though sweet, only heightened our bitterness.
Alcohol became our enemy, forcing our demons to the surface.
And only when the first flower blossomed was when we felt hope again; Spring was our rebirth.
We tied daisies together and wore them as crowns and a sense of carefree youth returned.
Though we remained meekly stung by the sadness, we knew that the song of the bird’s would lift our spirits, or hoped.
It seemed to be an endless season of wishing and waiting until eventually Summer returned with our happiness packaged inside the boxes we had stored it in.
And so it repeated and continued, each year held the same story though each season brought about a different cycle.
I often wondered to myself, how are they all so unaware of this madness.