Harbinger of change.
A time when leaves exude golden glows
and orange throes,
when sunsets burn in brilliant reds and pinks,
and the winds carry with it a particular chill
that reminds one that winter is on its way.

To me, Autumn was as much a herald of things to come
as it was a reminder of all the good that has happened.
Autumn brings holidays, new friends, new experiences,
all in a whirlwind of falling leaves and crisp night zephyrs.

Autumn will forever be my favorite because
Autumn brought me you.

In a flurry of rushed hellos and scattered glances,
like the flaxen leaves that twirled about outside,
you blew into my life, unassuming
and real.

I didn’t know anything about you, but like the frigid winds
I wanted to fill the air with your brilliant smile
and your soul-swelling laugh.
You fit so snugly in my arms, like a well-sewn sweater,
and your kisses were warmer and deeper than
the cups of hot chocolate you would make,
full of rainbow-colored marshmallows

There was something about the way we snuggled,
while the weather would become frightful,
where our hearts,
amidst the cracks and bruises,
learned to beat in beautiful tandem,
like apple pie and whipped cream,
pumpkin and cinnamon,
apples and caramel,
our bodies would become a sublime fusion
of skin, of hands laced together,
of lips and teeth and tongue.

I became more and more
like the honeycomb-gold,
tequila-sunrise orange
leaves that fell,
and like them,
I fell for you.

You always hated holidays.
The memories were just too horrible to remember,
but I wanted nothing more, like Autumn, to make them new again.
To make them worth enjoying again.
To make you love again.
But there is a peculiar melancholy about Autumn, I’ve come to know.
The slow decay into winter, when trees are bare, and the wind, unforgiving,
much like ourselves.

But like the barren trees, they too, get their leaves again.
What is lost is always found,
for love,
true love,
has a habit of coming back.
And like the selfless sacrifice of the trees,
who give their leaves unconditionally,
true love begins when nothing is looked for
in return.

So as the gentle breezes begin to carry the tell-tale coolness
of winter,
as the leaves begin their glorious descent to the earth below,
know that this time of year
will always remind me of you,
and I hope that when you pull your sweater tight,
you are reminded of my arms around you,
of my smile,
of my laugh,
of my lips,
and my love.
So please, wrap your lovely mind around this;

I love you. And that really is the least of it.



I do not want simple seconds
or microscopic minutes with you.
I want seasons with you

I want to experience the Spring of our love,
when we bloom together far fuller than any rose
or snapdragon we can say we have seen.
When the young tendrils of our hearts and souls
begin to take root in our bones,
and the warmth and nourishment of our laughs together
like a fine, crisp mist
settles upon the budding leaves of our memories,
like fresh morning dew.

I want to experience the Summer of our love,
when the warmth and radiance of the sun,
one another,
is soaked into our broadened branches,
strengthening them,
creating shade against the cruelty of the world.
Where the brown of your chestnut eyes
meet the sky in my own,
and the roots we have taken such tender care of
grow stronger
and any fear of uproot has been quelled in the Light
of our love.

I want to experience the Autumn of our love,
where we can revel in the brilliant
golds, reds, yellows, and oranges,
as the fruits of our labor fall around us.
Our roots, though strong, will uplift each other,
as we dance among the falling leaves.
I want us to never forget to hold hands
as we walk together.
And as the blades of Fall whirl around us
we realize that two damaged people,
trying to heal each other,
is love.

I want to experience the Winter of our love,
where the frigid winds strip away our bark.
Where the snow settles upon our exposed branches,
and critters, in awe of the strength of our love,
make their homes inside our spirits.
While on the outside,
the knots and whorls of our branches may seem intimidating
only we know
that for every corkscrew,
every twist,
every turn,
is unique to our love
for they are our story.
And as Spring comes around again,
we step forward,
into the new year,
eager to grow new roots,
hardier bark,
thicker leaves,
for each and every season has given us more
and more
to love about each other.

I want seasons with you.


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