Oh sweet, summertime, I miss you but I was so quick to wish you away, at least just for a little. The warmth of the sun on my skin, the smell of the ocean as I walked alongside it, feeling as if the days are much longer, making the moments had seem even more magical.
Somehow, I get use to summertime. I want summertime to fade away and not be as radiant on my skin anymore. I want to say goodbye to summertime, but somewhere down inside of me I do hope to see summertime soon.
Transitioning is never easy, but sometimes the very things that I am begging to have happen are the ones I never want to say goodbye to. My hardest goodbyes are of my most comfortable form. I forget what autumn feels like, so I eagerly wish for it to come and when it does I take all of it in and quickly take it for granted. I can’t help myself from finding so much meaning as the seasons change. I think it helps me embrace knowing that I am changing too.
October is my favorite month of the year: It’s beautiful, crisp weather, the bonfires filled with echoing laughter, and watching the leaves change into the most vibrant hues of bright reds and deep yellows. However, it has always been the hardest month for me to embrace. I find my past lingering around ever corner waiting to be discovered and so much of my past splattered on every hometown street still driven. I frequently find myself getting lost in my thoughts and somehow it all comes rushing back in just like the heartache did the very first time it unraveled. I know I shouldn’t be filled with this bittersweetness, but I am. Transitioning into my new growth, knowing it’s just time for me to love myself, to sit with this continually resurfaced pain, has shown true challenges and discomfort. Sometimes I discover that I want to jump back into the comfort of my past because it has been apart of me for what seems like an entire lifetime.
I shouldn’t feel this way, I know that it’s only the trauma seeping in. But somehow I feel like an imposter in my own mind; my own heart. I guess I never wanted to sit with my trauma until I realized that it’s stopping me from loving to my fullest capability.
Here’s to autumn blues. To the love that felt so big, so real, so full but still left me crippled and questioning what role love is really supposed to play, is it a lot, a little, or maybe not at all? Maybe I’ve just become too guarded. Maybe even a little cynical. I hope that I can find myself within it all, again.
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Amy Rose
