the first snow, the first light.

Apart from not understanding your mind entirely, I fail also to see your intention. My love for you will never die, nor do I want it to. Yet, it changes with the seasons. The way I loved you in your apartment, the way I looked at you, the way I longed for you was in a different language. The way I wanted to hold you spoke in a universal language that still holds true today.

The first snow of the season fell silently last night while I paid visit to the series of thoughts that stream without my consent. I woke with a sense of urgency.

I felt a sudden wave of urgency to change my sense of direction, my perception of color, my foundation for comfort --not an attempt to escape an ill flavored taste, but rather to accordingly evolve with the sun.

The white-covered land viewed outside of the window validated Mother Nature’s decision of time for change within her biological make-up as well as my psychological one.

Much like a chameleon, my colors change to adapt to my surroundings. Today, I resemble the tree standing in the sun –summer’s active green life still bellowing underneath and fall’s vermillion pigment spreading and spilling over with winter’s white snow sprinkled like decoration.

Change is indeed at my doorstep. 

Apart from not understanding your mind, I fail to see your intention. I remember a time when the mystery of it stirred an exceptionally uneasy stew in the pit of my stomach- difficult to ponder on without being driven to frustration lightly tossed with insanity.

Today, I do not love you in the way I used to. Today, I love you in a different language. A light was switched off and a different one was switched on. What once was in the shadow of the first light is now in plain sight.

You are lovely, none-the-less.

The parts of you that are now exposed are a lovely island I don’t wish to be trapped on.

The parts of you that now live in shadows will live in the shadows of my heart –comforting me and balancing me in ways that cannot be transcribed shorthand.

I thank you for existing

I thank you for not loving me

The white slate of snow that covers the once green land mirrors the white slate of understanding that once was spoiled with the robust temptations that sided naïve emotions.

I know what I want. That, in itself, is a gift.

You are not what I want—that is the bow on top.