Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight, or I loved her like the leaves. Some words from the poem may be tweaked slightly to fit.
"I loved her like the leaves."
It's autumn. The thought registers briefly in my mind that she died last autumn. It is a season of death, that much I have always known. I used to find a beauty of sorts in the golden brown hues to the trees as they slowly died in preparation for the winter. Autumn was always so alive with smells and sounds as leaves crunched underfoot and animals busied themselves with gathering food for the upcoming months.
Autumn is cold now. Cold and dead, like every other season, because she isn't here. But autumn is more special because it was her season and every autumn that comes will mean another year without her. It was a time of birth too and for that I should be grateful but I cannot be because the death of my love overshadows anything and everything. How is it that the world keeps spinning, that people keep living, when she is gone? She was everything, yet so many never even knew of her existence, and do not know of how the world is surely worse off with her passing?
I leave only to hunt now, and today I feel the leaves crunching underfoot as they line the forest floor in a golden blanket. I used to enjoy the feeling, because although Autumn represented the death of so much life, it was also a time of new beginnings and a symbol that no matter what, life went on. Each leaf was a miracle of in its own right, wrought so finely and perfectly, once a provider of life and sustenance and now slowly fading away to a beautiful, intricate skeleton, it's final act being to nourish the tree from which it had fallen as it rotted.
In my youth, when I was still new to immortality, I once spent an entire year visiting the same tree every day, mesmerised by each and every single one of its leaves. They weren't particularly awe-inspiring to any passerby, but to me they were fascinating. The life that pulsated from them was so incredible, and their whispering in the breeze was music in its own right.
I have only ever encountered one other thing in my long existence which stole my breath in such a way, which projected such life and vibrancy. Her. Her very being promoted her fragility, and she reminded me of the leaves that I had studied so long ago. It was impossible not to be swept away by her, but I happily enjoyed the ride because she made my life have meaning, she made the sky bright and the morning unable to arrive fast enough. The leaves were a passing fancy when compared to her, and she eclipses anything else that I have ever encountered in all my years.
Now she is gone, what meaning does anything hold? What beauty is there to be found? The leaves aren't fascinating any more – they're just another reminder that everything dies, as my love did. Everything aches, and despite how simple life was in the days were I could watch the leaves and let time pass by without care I would not return to them. Because I have experienced passion and love and Bella and life without her is no life at all.