passing seasons.

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Romance  |  House: Booksie Classic
the short tale of a romance lasting four seasons.

Submitted: November 04, 2013

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Submitted: November 04, 2013

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In winter I found you in a little coffee shop with rosy cheeks and a mug of earl gray between your two hands. You sat alone and nobody took any notice of you except the homeless man outside who continued to poke at the window every time you weren’t looking. Together we left our steaming mugs of coffee behind and handed that man fifty dollars to lead to a better future.

In spring we had our first fight and your eyes were filled with fire. You screamed at me and I screamed at you, but instead of storming out the door I got down on one knee and asked you to marry me, and the funny thing was that even through your anger you didn’t hesitate to say yes.

In summer you started to cough a whole lot. You never wanted to do things with me and you got angry if I even came anywhere near wrapping my arms around you. Eventually I came home and found you sitting in front of the toilet bowl with blood spilling from your lips.

In autumn we wore yellow, gold and orange to your funeral. We were outdoors surrounded by maple trees shedding leaves on our heads. I cried, we all cried but not as much as we would have if we’d worn black on that day. You always hated funerals because they mourned death rather than celebrating life. I wanted to celebrate your life, your short life. So we wore the colours of autumn and placed daisies on your casket and I knew you would be happy with that.


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