It began like the Spring, pure and innocent, emerging through the earth where it lay dormant. I saw the infancy in all things that surrounded me, and the eagerness to watch them grow. Everything that lies dormant has an opportunity to resurface; my love was no different. Everyone awaits their turn. Everyone waits silently to be loved. I was the last flower in the field of the wild ones. I was the forgotten rose. Then one day, it happened by chance, but the choice was mine to bloom. I found love through the rising of the sun. The love that dreams are made of.

I began to nurture it in depth. Like a midsummer night, it became endless, warm, and hard to let go. It blossomed into something so enchanting. Slowly, I merged into another life within the magic of my fairytale. The illusion of it being evergreen became appealing; I held on to that thought. It became easy and lazy, just like summer days. I gave in to the persuasion, embracing it as I held on, not wanting it to stray, as if the season would change if I let it go. The more I was given, the more I took. I lost the person I was within that field of love.

It did change, I changed, and it changed me. I had lost myself in the depth of feeling complete. Slowly, the elements took from me. Little by little, the season changed. I watched as each tiny petal began to fall. Some petals fell like leaves; they drifted before hitting the ground. In no time, they decayed, and just like that, the love I nurtured began to wilt and fray. Slowly but surely, just like an autumn day, I, too, began to fade. The winds took with them the last of my affection, and the rains made me weary of a love that once tempted me.

I reasoned with life. I fought with the elements. I tried, but time wouldn’t wait. Love is a strange emotion. It brings you to life, awakens parts of you that you didn’t know existed. It can murder too, slowly, the parts of you that were living free. It can weaken the strong and exhaust you, leaving you powerless and heartbroken. And so as I walked alone on that cold winter’s day, trying with all my might to warm my soul. The heart that had beat so profoundly felt cold and heavy. It grew used to not being around something that gave it a purpose. It got used to surviving without. My surroundings were buried deep in the frigid ice that season, as was my lost love.

I began to convince myself that it didn’t affect me, that I didn’t change because of it. I was lying to myself. Each time a piece of your heart has travelled a season with love, it changes you. You learn to be more mindful, stronger, and wiser. But the thing about love is that, no matter how mindful, strong, and wise you are, it will find a way to tug at your heart. The seasons will come and go, and love will always find a way.