winter was shy,
never had much to say
and stumbled over dirt
because she only knew
how to walk in snow.

she wrote in cursive
but spoke in chimes
and her cheeks were
forever the color of
a weathered cabernet.

she only loved once
and when she did,
she lost her heart.

you see,
the boy used her
in the night
and left her in the day
and she was content.

she resolved that
beautiful people
deserved more love
than herself
and were therefore entitled
to take love from those
who were less worthy.

(she loved a boy
who would never love her back.)

his name was spring
and his voice dripped nectar
into the ears of virgins.

his smile was forever blooming—
growing tooth by tooth
until he sprung branches of laughter
that tickled the clouds.

his eyes were always moving
from woman to woman
and his charm grew vines over
the most averse of hearts.

but
there was one he could not snag
no matter where he planted roots,
and he could not understand why.

he was the bird and the bee
to her flower without pollen—
and every time he inched closer,
she took a step back.

finally,
he tried to console himself with lust
but each girl he took to bed
grew her face between the sheets.

he was haunted by someone intangible
and spring
forever searched
for her replacement
in a world that did not offer one.

(he loved a girl
who would never love him back.)

everybody called her summer
because she had golden eyes
and she had as many freckles
as the stars in the sky.

she was wild and reckless,
always half naked in the ocean
at the stroke of twelve.

her hair smelled like wildflowers
drowned in brandy
because she was forever tipsy.

she saw the world
in technicolor and darkness
and she never lived one day
without sending a postcard to death.

everyone loved her
because she made them
remember how to feel alive.
she reminded them daily that
tomorrow was just yesterday
lived two days in advance.

despite her forwardness,
she held scars on her thighs
and tears in her lungs.

she harbored feelings
for her french tutor
in the graveyard of her heart
in an attempt to kill them
before they revealed her desires
to him.

she always had a boyfriend
but never one she could tell
i love you
without feeling insincere.

je t'aime
she always thought
as he passed her in the hallways
but she never said it out loud
because
well
she was more concerned about
other people's opinions
than her own feelings.

that was why
she always dated the boys
her friends chose
or her parents approved of
because she was so consumed
with pleasing everyone else
instead of pleasing herself.

and as her feelings grew,
she tuned them out with drugs
and drunken kisses
and one night stands
until she slowly forgot herself.

(she loved a boy
who would never love her back.)

his name is autumn
kids whispered in the hallways
as a large boy fell down the stairs.

his hair was the color of orange peels
and he wore plaid on every monday
because he wanted to be a lumberjack.

on the first day of english,
he told his class his secret talent
was carving maple leaves into pumpkins.

he always sat in the back
because he chewed cinnamon gum
and he never walked thirty feet
without falling to the ground.

he was entranced
by an ethereal girl
who sat in the front
and scribbled furiously
into her notebook
without ever saying a word.

she puzzled him
and he turned multiple colors
at the thought of her saying his name.

and it happened once,
when she took role for a teacher,
and she stood at the chalkboard
like a rosebud peeking out of the snow.

he had fallen hard
for a girl he had never spoken to—
and after attempting to speak with her
on several occasions,
he never got a reply.

eventually,
he resigned himself
to the fact that
she was too preoccupied
to engage in a conversation with him—
so he melted into the background
only to emerge as a distant admirer
calling out to winter
in the sighing of the trees.

(he loved a girl
who would never love him back.)