Hey, this is to you whom I will love next. You, who will love me next. I want you to know I am summer. I am scorching and uncomfortable. I will bring you sunshine and intense heat, pressure with which our bodies will be glued. In me you will be spent and drenched in beads of your own sweat. So fiery that you will not look very far for satisfaction. I am passion.
Know that I am spring. I am all things bright and new and blooming. In me you’ll find laughter and love and joy. We will hold hands and we will grow while things around us bloom green, drenching in our rain. I am steps and giggles and surplus humour. I am happiness.
Remember that I am autumn. I am cool and light. Sometimes all that grew will die and all around us will be still. In me you will find secrets that are both dreary and enchanting. I am lonely in a way that excludes you. Soothing and gripping but subtle and faint. I am weakness.
Most of all, it will never escape you that I am winter. I am dark and haunting, dragging a strong storm behind me. I am cold gripping hands that you cannot handle, a foot of snow you can’t step out of; melancholy. In me you will find a sadness so deep, it will almost suck you in. Here, you will pray for summer, spring or autumn but they will not come. I am destruction.
Only you will know if you have the strength to dominate my winter. So when it is past, I have no idea if you will still be here.