“Forget Winter,” Spring says.
“I could never forget,” I reply.
Spring rises, shedding cherry blossoms, raindrops, and sparkling sunlight. “Look at me!”
I look away, thinking of fuzzy skies and crisp winds, hot cinnamon and my breath fogging the window. For a moment, I’m distracted as Spring whispers promises of beautiful things, everything new as fresh linen daisies, while he shines on me.
Then, I remember Winter accepting me, letting me succumb.
I wish I wanted Spring, but Winter still possesses me. And I need, want, to be possessed. I long to return to him, but, now, I’ve forgotten the way.