Literally wrote this after writing 12 pages of an essay so expect pretentiousness to the max
Spring
New school year. Infant flower buds began to blossom to greet to the returning students. Laughter fills the air. Friendship's old blooms still hold strong while another feeling encroaches like a vine, vying to take control.
But it's not a threat, he assures himself, the feeling is just a feeling of appreciation of true friendship. A shine reflects off his glasses that hold no use when he looks up at the sky. His gaze is redirected when he's head butted by a certain blonde.
Summer
Simmering heat. Excess time mingled with excess energy, leaving the opportunity to roll the gears in his head. Thoughts turn over and over as only the slightest cool breeze entered from the opened window, saying its own fleeting greeting. The vine had grown and wrapped around the old bloom, not choking it, but settling on it.
It felt suffocating nonetheless.
He gave the vine a name: annoyance. Turning over in his bed, he ignored the vibrations from his phone.
Fall
Falling. He was falling. As natures heat cooled to a calmness, he could feel his agitation rising. The leaves would tell him to release his feelings as they floated to the ground in brilliant colors, but their advice was given in vain. Annoyance grew. Annoyance wrapped around that bloom and held it hostage; the harmless sprout became a dangerous parasite.
He asked, ever so vaguely, like a troubling wind on a riverbank, what was this feeling? The leaves sighed and answered, "love" as he punched a certain blonde.
Winter
Renewal, refreshing, recoil. Biting cold replaced calm wind; leaves dried and returned to their earth under the white cloak of snow, leaving behind naked trees with sharp branches. Love grew. The bloom tried it's damnest, but the vine choke it, suffocated it, killed it slowly. He accepted it was love, but he questioned why it hurt. Why did his throat constrict, his heart rate rise, his legs weaken when he asked "let's hang out on Christmas"?
The leaves under the snow could not give him the answer this time. In their steed, the snow answered "fear."
Spring
It no longer mattered. The vine named love and the bloom names friendship both disappeared with the screeching of a car, yelling, and a white ceiling. The words "who are you?" Echoed through the room, but he couldn't tell who's voice it was.