I guess you can call me winter.

if I could change anything , I would tiptoe back to that car and peel my body off yours. I would let our words make space in between us and maybe I’d let my fingers fall into yours. then I would wave goodbye and pull that little Honda CR-V away from the night

if I could change anything, I would let my words be more vulnerable than my skin. and I would look into your sleepy eyes a little more. my eyes were always closed.

maybe if I had asked you to play the guitar and hold my hand I would have painted pictures of you in my daydreams. maybe I would have been a blazing wreck of a tornado to get a little closer to you. like you were for me

I remember when we’d flirt like the rain does with puddles. you decorated the sky with penciled “I love you”s and the sound of your name would sketch a small smile on my face. we would kiss like running on wild flower fields. free and happy and so        fast.  my smiles grew into sunflowers and summer wind–but I guess I adapt easily to changing seasons.

I can’t look at your eyes anymore. I think I stole the way they used to shine. I think I splashed them with a gray sky. I hate myself for having no fear of falling leaves and treating summer like a vacation.

I know we were seasons ago but I just wish your eyes didn’t look so gray while you still smell so much like summer. 

I guess you can call me winter.



**This poem was written in spring 2015, but the mountains were drawn in fall 2017

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