Without my glasses spring can become winter. Daisies are frost traipsing themselves over the grass, my fair skin. The smoky air I exhale feigning the cold. You wish I wouldn’t breathe it in. He wishes I wouldn’t breathe at all. The steam dances off my morning coffee; not the pas de deux it was in December… more like a drunk uncle towards the end of a wedding. I’m content here; awkwardly sat between seasons. So early in the day, the next hours are what I make them. How I wish I had your mind, to transform them into adventures and memories and remember whens. But I have my mind. Panic attacks and sad thoughts and what ifs. I wish for the sparkle in your eye to fill mine for just a second. I wish I could find this winter spring as beautiful as you would.

Published by Phoebe Paperchains