Spring is my annual guest. She drops by once a year, and she showers me with unique presents that no other can give me. You might be thinking of the cliches: love, happiness, friendship… and the list goes on because life, it’s full of cliches. No, in reality, those so called “gifts” could be achieved by developing emotional connections to anyone. It could be that lonely girl whom you’ve never imagined yourself talking to. Or your classmate who you assume to be a “prude”.
But not spring.Spring… gave me life. She restored my youth whenever I lay my eyes on her.I know that I’m naive, because she only visits for a few months and then comes the sorrow goodbyes. Yet, there is still happiness in our goodbyes. I carry the hope she gives me throughout the course of the whole year, until she decides to drop by again. My home is her sanctuary. She is welcome anytime. Once she drops by again, my hope is renewed. Hope is a flower that blooms and withers like any other flower, and by the passage of spring I am confident that my flower will bloom once more.
She is monumental. Children laughed and played with her. Her colorful aura even attracted the adults to join her games. The gardens spoke to her, for she understood the language of nature. I could swear, that I’ve seen flowers bloom in her presence, and trees grew a bit taller whenever she smiled to them, birds and fireflies danced to the melody of her tune. Walking by her side, I thought I was in a princess storybook. You know the ones, where the princess would dance and sing with the creatures of the forest.
She planted gardens everywhere she stepped foot on and nourished all. Be it dead or alive. Her aura washed away the dullness of life and in its place, she painted a vibrant masterpiece.
In her absence, life had no colours. Life decayed into monotony. Well, I could be exaggerating. And that’s only because Spring showed me the wonders of life. She was the pilot to my life, and my
soul flew to the peak of the heavens. Therefore, anything below that peak has become mundane from my perspective.
My dear, where are you? She’s never been this late before. Normally, fires brewed in her soul to the thought of being in my company. Back when I was a boy, she often dropped by unexpected and welcomed herself in and made herself at home. That is one of the many things that I love about her. Spring was anything but uptight and fake. She was natural. Inborn. If she were a plant, she would be a native one. She was so comfortable at my home that my Mother began to believe that Spring was rude. Not me. I rejoiced in her proximity. The sooner the better. It means the fun started earlier. Who could ever say no to joy?
The last decade has been anything but exhilarating. She lost interest. Simply. Is it because I am no longer as handsome as I used to be? It must be. Why else would Spring treat me like this? I miss her. My heart aches for her. I would do anything just to touch those rosy cheeks once more. They were as soft as velvet’s touch. And her lucious scent, even my nose longs for her. My whole body misses her. The mere memory of her is nostalgic, and it haunts me because I can’t have her no matter how much I want her.
I just wish that I could open the door tommorow morning to her: bedazzling pink pupils, her long blonde hair, and her serene laugh. I want her to assure me that she still loves me and she still wants to spend her whole life with me. I need that. It’s the only way that I could keep going. But tommorow is a long way from here and seemingly impossible to reach. Maybe tomorrow I’ll see her. Yet, maybe tomorrow won’t come after all…
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