The Seasons

A short story about the seasons and dealing with loss and love.


3. Autumn; Loss

“It’ll be okay, I’ll meet you again under the blossom tree” he says, laments to the wind. Autumn; the season of death. The blossom tree flowers wither as I sit by his side playing classics such as Chopin, Fritzler and Beethoven, as his breaths like the leaves became more ragged with each day passing. As I sit by him one night under our velvet sky, he says “remember for a star to be born a nebula must collapse, so crumble and be reborn”. But as he smiles;  everything ended in darkness, no sound, just silence and passing breaths. As I sit  here, I watch the wind drag away the blossoms like he left me; slowly and then all at once.  

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