Spring.

A time for abusive fathers.

And flowers.

A time for increased crime.

And newfound lovers.

Spring.

Holds no memories for me.

It is a short time between

summer and winter.

It brings up no past.

I feel nothing

towards spring.

Perhaps spring remembers me despite this.

Perhaps spring has planned something special.

Perhaps not.

No matter how spring feels,

I feel nothing.

Ever.

Never again.