Autumn

If there was a Season to express how I feel I think it would be Autumn.

It wouldn't be Winter. Winter is an icy blast buffeted by bad feelings from the past. It is icy cold and has shards of fear that decorate crystal ice castles that imprison memories. Behind glass walls these images sit, wrapped in snow blankets that warm nothing but sharpen icicles of discontent.

It wouldn't be Summer. Summer is lazy and slow. Languid liquid limpid love that oozes with the juice of comfortableness. You taste like salty sweat like mermaid skin and shimmer pearly scales of confidence like a deep sea fish that has explored unfathomable waters of content.

It wouldn't be Spring. Spring is sunkissed sun crushed love that feels like a drug intoxicating your veins so you burst with joy. You breathe in air that smells like perfumed flowers that only grow in moist and succulent crevices of your body that I adore. You drink in love in it's purest form and become giddy on time spent together and sharply feel the other's absence.

It must be Autumn. Autumn is yellow, orange and fiery red. Burning colours that quickly fade because they are cut off from the life supply. Crackling and brown lying on the ground to be scuffed through just to hear the sensation of dry skin rubbing against nothing but longing. Flashes of brilliant flame that fall in hope - or in vain.

Michelle