the art of loving you

forty eight.

in september, the sun shines. it's still warm outside and the first time we meet she tells me it's her favorite weather. i find a new appreciation for end of summer sunsets.

in october, the leaves fall. there are colors everywhere and her kaleidoscope heart fits right it. things are dying but i think they might be living too.

in november, it's cloudy. we can never see the sun but it's alright, she has a light of her own. the dark doesn't scare me anymore.

in december, we freeze. frozen makes a comeback and i want to hate it, but she sings more beautifully than any elsa. i let it go.

in january, the snow starts. i have never met anyone who got as cold as i did before her. she tells me there's beauty in the snowflakes, but all i see is her.

in february, it shifts to rain. the weather is as undecided as we are, but there's still sun between the storms. she and i walk through puddles as deep as the metaphors we embody.

in march, the wind stings. i try my best but i am so harsh, so cruel. she drips sunshine and flower petals and i cry when she falls down.

in april, we begin to thaw. the air is warm and soft and so is she, and she plants love and comfort in my heart. i begin to understand why spring means rebirth and not destruction.

in may, flowers bloom. she makes wishes on dandelions and i perfect the art of daisy chains. they are not the only things i have learned to link together.

in june, we are free. school is out with the sun, and she and i just shine shine shine. her hand does not leave mine.

in july, the heat spreads. we go to the beach and make boardwalk memories. sand is etched into my very being but i love her, and this is our place.

in august, we love. she owns my heart and she knows it, and when she says i love you, i repeat it. summer is soft and quiet and we finally belong.