printemps
whether it started
with a glance
or a smile,
none can be quite sure.
but there they were,
all giggles and smiles
and sickeningly sweet glances
and hand-holding as love
blossomed
été
all things change
as time goes on,
and whether that is
good or bad,
only time can tell.
time, a sadist of a professor,
tortures and torments
his pupils until
p o o f
they are no more.
and in this ever-changing world,
their love changed, too
grew; flourished
automne
his words hurt her,
and likewise, hers him,
they fall together
and apart,
dancing their awkward,
confused tango
amidst life's cold, cruel breeze
fallen
hiver
he is there,
and she is here.
always.
she is reminiscent,
longing for the days
when he wasn't so distant
cold
( she wonders, 'does everything
have to die?
what is the point in anything
if in the end,
all it does is die anyway?' )
printemps
everything must die
so that it may
grow again 














