day 227

When you describe a tree without saying leave or Autumn, you are reminded of sweet Spring and the surface of brand new skin. You start to realize how love will begin to blossom after a long cold and you find yourself warming up to the idea of painting yourself onto the limbs of someone new. I am still stuck between a bitter December and the lust of June, July, and August heartbreaks, but I have found home in April and learning to make a home out of someone else's house. I talk with weary eyes often, but I hover my hands over your skin with fingertips imploding a short stop of shy. I will watch you blush, plant your roots into a homecoming parade made for the birth of Spring, and hear you talk about love. I don't know anything at all about it. I just know how Autumn makes me feel and how close to home you are becoming.