Someone else

I used to be someone else once; a different sort of girl. The kind with a face like a spring morning.

I would wake and wipe the dew from my cheek, allow the blossom to drift from my hair. You would watch the petals fall; sometimes, you would catch one in your hand before it hit the pillow. I would let the rest scatter behind me as I walked to the bathroom.

I used to be someone else once; a different sort of girl. The kind who pulsed with the heat of summer.

I would stretch against the sun and hold fast the shadows, my skin turning sweet. Dusk would bring fireflies to dance with and thunder to roll across my back. Afterwards, your hand would rest in mine.

I used to be someone else once; a different sort of girl. The kind whose hair reflected autumn.

I would wait for the light of a late afternoon sunset to look for you; some days, you were there. My bed, filling with leaves so dry their skeletons would break at my touch, was no longer a place for rest.

I am someone else now; a different sort of girl. The kind in winter’s thrall.

I am cast in colour no more. Instead, I wake to darkness and turn back towards sleep. I have faith the solstice is coming. Until then, I wait.