Seasons

His eyes were the sky
on a clear summer day.

Her eyes were blades of grass
after a drink of rain.

Yet somehow,
those perfect green eyes
hid all the pain.

He was always optimistic.
He saw the glass half full.
He was carefree and summer.

She was broken,
battered and bruised.
She lived in the cruel heart of winter.

They were opposites
in most every way.

He never tasted her darkness.
She never tasted his light.

And as she drowned
in that winter storm,
all she could beg for
was some of his sun.

Yet no sun ever came.

And then she met him;
the boy with eyes like hers.

But in his eyes
instead of a cruel winter storm
there was but a gentle spring shower.

And for once,
she didn't beg for the sun,
because she saw
what could be.

Though his eyes were spring,
she could see the scars
that winter had left behind.

But that was all she needed:
hope.

Hope that she could calm her storms
and find spring instead.
Hope that she would,
one day,
be able to see through the pain.

So day after day,
she learned from him,
the gentle grassy eyed boy,
that soothed her soul with spring.

And day after day,
her storms weakened,
and she became new.

Until one day,
she no longer lived
in the cruel heart of winter.

She could create her own seasons,
but the one she preferred
was spring.