Albeit the season

It’s strange that the human brain is configured to take in physical attraction foremost, always appreciating a symmetrical nose or wide, doe like eyes. Makes us humans quite vain doesn’t it? To constantly shy our mind of appreciation for those who extend past the ideal beauty standards, those who may out stand their looks in niceties.

but then again I’m vain too. My eyes linger a bit longer on the barista who serves me morning coffee, starkly sharp bone structure laying prominently under tinted mocha skin and then i giggle unceremoniously at the young school socialite who offers me the morning newspaper, taking in her beautifully youthful features - large, innocent eyes encapsulated in lusciously curled eyelashes.

Though it’s hard to tell if their beauty gives away to an equally beautiful heart. The most gorgeous paintings often laying on top of canvases of malicious, midnight black.

But sometimes, and it’s rare, you’ll find someone whose inner beauty reflects through their features. Someone you look at and know for sure, that they’re more than their beauty in worth.

And when you find someone like that, you lock them down with silver chains and promising words. That was my first mistake: I never uttered a word.

Plentiful spring gave away to a new academic year, swirls of crisp, lemon petals and bounding veins of forest green wrapping dutifully around the school gates, as if reminding the students of mother nature’s new gifts.

Yet, no offence to Mother Nature and her dutiful hands but the bustling vegetation came in humble second to her irises.

they were not jungle green, less overbearing and more approachable - something within my own fingertips. Yet maybe not so, a bit more of a clover green, the kind of emerald that you would see every day, and some more. they shone more than sage ever could, a glistening shamrock that I could only every place as ‘four leaf clover green’.

God, shades seem so particular when it comes down to her - Careful not to belittle the intensity that gleams every morning and every night, the midnight fog doing nothing to smother the raw appreciation and hope that swims in her verdant pools.

so unique, I blame it on my soft spot for spring. Spring always brought about new colours and shades that summer couldn’t handle, ecstatically vivid peony crisping and curling into a muted chestnut under the overbearing heat.

hence I awaited the flourish of summer, counting down the plentiful days until the curves of her irises would blister chestnut, avoiding her aggressive stares until exams peaked and the promise of summer break was between my grasp.

by no means do I dislike summer, the new heat is welcoming after a breezy spring, thick duvets exchanged for thin cotton as the beating temperature seems to rest in my bones like a flu.

personally though, summer is always the most boring. summer break takes up two thirds of summer as a whole, meaning two thirds of my summer are spent holed up in the cool shade of my bedroom. Four whole weeks of aching, pure want to dance along the streets and to join in with the friendly chatter that dances through my open window. But that would massively overshadow this year’s quota for social interaction.

Despite the loneliness that grips my arteries, I somehow always end up enjoying those long weeks away more than the weeks following the return to school. The glimmering heat following everyone around like some sort of mass plaque, washing everyone in the same sweat induced haze.

Frankly, its always disgusting. Even those with glimmering, ethereal features get washed in a sticky sheen that turns them from dashing to sickly in moments. and that’s talking about those with natural beauty. Those with artificial beauty stand not even the foggiest chance of making it through the season.

but god was cruel, maybe he wanted me to repent for that one time I stole a laffy taffy in third grade but he left her untouched. Even the basking heat couldn’t grasp her, flushed skin taking in the warm temperament and directing it straight to those glistening orbs.

Albeit green, they still seemed to encapsulate the sun. a hot blazing orb glimmering over a field of freshly planted corn. and annoyingly, the beating light didn’t burn the emerald green into the warm caramel i thought it would, instead grasping the most yellow toned chartreuse.

Chartreuse - it reminds me of more than just the flourishing wine, soft orbs of lime almost reminiscent of bubbles. But also of the the sweetest, brine covered olives, an enticing mix of sour and sweet that you can’t help but stare into and hope that you eventually work out how bitter can alongside such creaminess.

Despite the lingering sour in her eyes, she seemed impossibly sweeter in the summer. The slight yellowed tone to her irises almost seemed to be a glimpse of her inner feelings, of the happiness that shined through the coloured pigment. and she had good reason to enjoy summer, especially when it seemed like summer graced her so gorgeously.

And I hoped autumn wouldn’t be so favourable.

Spoiler: autumn also seemed to adore her.

Maybe it was because I saw her everyday in the transition from summer to autumn but the change didn’t seem so extravagant, the autumn a lot kinder than the summer. Unlike the season of blistering heat, who seemed to aggressively steal the colour of spring, delicate, fluttering autumn politely took over in soft steps.

Favourably, not a quick transition from fresh grass green to subtle olive but instead a gradual shift from the lime shimmer to a dirty gold, giving me more time to adjust to the new healing shade.

and maybe now my favourite season was August.

not just because it was the first time I ever talked to her. Or more so, she talked to me, stupidly I only offered a nod of my head in return.

but because her irises were priceless, a tainted gold that reflected the light like some kind of halo around her pupil. a potential symbol of how much of an angel she was. I didn’t have to hear of her volunteer work or ask the nearby animal shelter to confirm that she had a heart of gold, I just had to take a fated look into her eyes. And it was hard to deny to myself that I wasn’t in love now.

There was just no one like her. No one seemed to glimmer like she did - walking the halls with some kind of pixie powder spilling from her irises, decorating her silhouette in a mythical glow. She commanded any room but not with aggression, but with a twinkle and cheerful giggle.

And it was painstakingly clear that I wasn’t the only one who loved her.

Winter confirmed this.

Winter meant two things: simultaneously the least and most exciting events where about to happen and the school was in complete shambles.

Final Exams and the winter formal.

For most, it was an even balance of stress and enjoyment, an acceptable ying and yang.

But for me, both brought a lingering of fear and doubt and a constricting hand around my throat.

luckily, the less fearful of the two came first. Meaning studying for many hours, soft snow hiding tensely behind a flurry of blurry text. And I barely had the chance to relieve myself with even the smallest glance of winter irises, not when a bad report card was on the line.

Yet oddly, even after exams passed, the harsh hand grasped around my lungs relieving slightly and finally letting sweet oxygen in, I never got a glance of snow filled eyes.

Yes I heard of them, heard of the owner and her many softly dubious rejections towards boys and girls alike. but the figure never graced me with her presence, not until the day before the most looked forward to event of the year.

Stalking meticulously down the hallway, it was clear her hibernating had been on purpose. For what reason, still unbeknownst to me.

Dark navy cap tilted teasingly downward, i preened and tilted trying to sneak even the faintest glance of wintery orbs, envisioning snow globes and the brightest ornaments. But to no avail, I could only bask in the darkest Prussian blue of denim.

Coincidentally, dark blue seemed to also follow into the winter formal through beating lights and flurries of well organised silk.

I didn’t intend on going, not in the slightest. But with a captivating Instagram picture: she standing there in yards of crisp amber, twinkling sparkles following every fold as it pleated outwards. I would like to say I went because she looked utterly enticing and not because she stood starkly dateless, a glimmer of hope.

And it was true. I spent the entire night foregoing any type of leisure, crowded hazardously in the corner like some kind of sadistic scout, looking for either a sudden heartbreak or a grasp of hope. It was a bit of a waste really. To show up to such an event only to crowd up the room with no real intent to enjoy myself or bask in the final event of the year.

worth differs from person to person however, and once I made contact with her, I knew it was oh so worth it.

the tingling golden tones of her irises had washed away, seeping delicately across her bright waterline and leaving a dark pine tree green in replacement. It was the darkest shade they had been but by no means in a dull or uninspired manner. In fact they seemed to grasp all the festivities more than any other shade, a Christmas tree shade of green, the green of new wrapping paper or of the mall elves crisp uniform. it was a symphony of lightly coloured swirls dancing euphorically among a sea of phthalo green.

Even under the cascading indigo lights it was obvious that the Swift marigold fabric was not the star, slight caramel eyeliner delicately framing those enticing eyes.

The eyes that linked with mine, offering a soft smile that could have been for anyone yet still seemed so specifically for me. She had this talent, to make everyone feel so important with any minuscule tilt of head or symphonic giggle. But when her delicately placed smile evolved into a full blown ear to ear grin and a lazy wink was tossed in my direction, I knew it was for just me.

And I was ready to take the next seasons in my grasp, alongside her hand.