The changing of the seasons comes along so slowly that it is hardly noticeable. The glow of morning wakes you earlier; blades of grass collect dew, growing intolerant of the frost that holds on just a little too long. Before you know it- the grass becomes full and green and then without warning, dry and brittle as it bakes in the summer sun.
People are like that too. The change happens slowly and overtime. We are green and vibrant, full of life and passion causing one another to glow warm with that first awkward kiss. We shake off the skepticism. Love is real and we know because we are wrapped inside it together, rebuffing the cool frost that stills the veins of our peers.
That will never be us, we comment alone together in bed. We couldn't possibly end up as harsh and burned- scarred by too much time in the midst of summer, burning with passion for each other until we crisp and tire.
But then here we are. Your hand brushes mine accidentally over breakfast and you retract it as if it the heat overwhelmed you. It's too hot to sustain and reality is upon us. The seasons are changing. With spring comes life- new birds chirp in their nests and you sigh, because as long as I hold out you can never chorus their happiness.
Our love is brittle now, like blades of grass begging for water; it happened so slowly, it was hardly noticeable. The seasons have changed, and so have we.