Seasons

 

This was the summer I chose to be young.

I drank too much, made mistakes with a worthless guy.

Laughed, cried, partied, and pretended for two months of bliss

that I was young.

 

This was the summer I chose to lose love.

In losing love I allowed my feelings for an

insignificant suitor to numb my heart

blur my mind and confuse my head.

 

This was the summer I chose to grow up.

Just kidding

I regressed.

Grew down?

Acted like I was twenty-one. Confused.

In lust. Drunk. I lost myself yet again in a bottle of

vodka, in someone else’s arms, because having

something is better than having

nothing.

 

This is the winter where I hope to grow into a

respectable adult.

Whatever that means.

Be wiser, actually learn

from my mistakes, instead of repeating

them season after season.

 

This is the winter where I won’t lose myself. But,

can I lose myself in your arms?

Stumble up the stairs with you, hand in hand.

I just need to figure out who you are.

I don’t think you exist.

 

Winter is cold.

Winter is lonely.

Just like me.

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