Oh, summer,

You were the fire that lit my edges,

a sunlit blaze that softened my cold corners,

turned my frozen veins to rivers,

my heart to molten gold,

spilling freely into the palms of your hands.

But your touch burned for far too long,

scorched my skin until it cracked,

left me peeling beneath your glare.

And oh, how I begged for winter’s breath,

its frost to soothe the embers

you left smoldering inside me.

Winter came, silver and sharp,

its winds carving me into something new.

The snow kissed my lashes,

a fleeting mercy,

cooling the wounds your heat had made.

But its stillness became a silence too loud.

Its chill wrapped around my bones,

and I longed for your sunlit laughter once more.

Strange creatures, we are,

grasping for what slips through our fingers.

We crave the flame when we’re buried in ice,

yet shun its heat when it licks too close.

We are oceans yearning for the shore,

and shores aching for the tide.

Always looking past what holds us,

to some far-off promise of better,

of more.

Oh, summer.

Oh, winter.

You are the same in our restless hearts—

a fleeting beauty,

a distant ache,

a mirror for our hunger

that can never be fully satisfied.