The cold, lonely winter echoes your name as if it is mocking me and my summer fantasy
The bare trees scratch against my window, where vibrant green leaves once grew
The frigid night air replacing the steaming rays of sun that brought us inside on those long summer days
The dying grass, taunting me in remembrance of the green, healthy blades we lounged in, laughing at our contraband hand holding
The black, paper-like leaves on the ground where you picked beautiful blooming roses
Few things remain the same and with every glance I see it all replay in my head
The great oak tree in my front yard still standing tall and proud reflecting the days that we spent in its pleasurable shade
The long, rocky drive that skidded beneath your tires each day
The lonesome, abandoned shed that camoflauged your whereabouts
My bright, brilliant walls that enclosed our existance now seem to fade to black at the thought of anything less than your arrival.