The signs of trouble are always right in front of me. Do I see them? Or do I choose ignorance?
In this relationship, our time together grows shorter with the passing of each hour. Sometimes my love slips out the door shortly after dinner. The bloom of our love fades by the day, from the vibrant green of infatuation to the faded gold, red and brown of neglect. Our once-solid foundation hangs on a frayed thread.
Each year Summer and I break up as intensely as a first love. Yet each year I find a rebound guy pretty fast.
Autumn is cool. He’s colorful and fun. But Autumn is more of a whirlwind romance. He blows into town on a tropical depression, sucker-punching Summer to the sidelines. Autumn takes over fairly fast, rearranging the landscape and lighting to his tastes. And just as we’re getting comfortable with each other, drunk on cider and doughnuts, playing dress-up and overindulging in sweets, he slips away in the dead of night, leaving behind a note scribbled in frost:
“Watch out for Winter; she can be a bitch.”