Spring is always the worst; it’s then that your memory burns the brightest, like a candle in the bleak blackness of my mind. The way the rain suddenly falls around me is a reminder of those ever constant shifts in mood that never failed to keep me on the very tips of my toes. There’s also the way the sun touches the spots of my skin that I wish your lips were touching instead. Every single color relates to every single aspect of you, and that kills me with every second that I choose to stare. That soft yellow of your hair simulates the early morning light that blankets me during those lonely walks by the lake; the lake that I can’t look at without peering into those pretty blue eyes that were once the definition of home. I find myself cursing at the newborn flowers day after day, and it seems that the pink ones always receive the worst end of my abuses. Really though, that’s terribly unfair of me. After all, it isn’t their fault that the hue of their petals mimic the permanent, rosy tint of your cheeks. So yes, spring is always the worst.
Author Bio:
Ashley Williams is a high school student who focuses on creative writing at Harrison School for the Arts. Her poetry has been published in several compilations, she's had fiction featured in numerous literary magazines, and she's won awards such as "Best Teen Poet of 2012."
Author Bio:
Ashley Williams is a high school student who focuses on creative writing at Harrison School for the Arts. Her poetry has been published in several compilations, she's had fiction featured in numerous literary magazines, and she's won awards such as "Best Teen Poet of 2012."
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