Without Love

The spring breeze carries whispers of a cold winter chill, as the essence of renewal permeates the air.

Flowers begin to unfurl, swaying amidst the distant melodies.

They dance alone, without the rhythm of a fluttering heartbeat to join them.  

Spring melts into the warm embrace of summer, as the breeze whirls through a plethora of colours. 

The sun begins to set, as the orange and raspberry sky ripples into dusk. 

The distance is more vast, a deep gaze without floating on the pink clouds of lust. 

The summer breeze cools and drifts, scattering the first leaves of autumn.

A golden touch.

Vibrant colours blotched upon the leaves, beneath a blue sky and the fading hues of green, like a photo of summer, with nobody in it. 

The winds of autumn begin to howl, as the vapour of a deep cold sigh drifts upward, merging with the clouds, weighing upon the heaviness of a despondent winter sky.

The darkness is more consoling than the grey, yet the glimmer of the stars is not as captivating. 

Without Love.