Maybe by Summer

With autumn came change.

the green, turned yellow, turned brown

floating slowly toward the ground, crunch.

The charcoal grey sky, the final sliver of blue.

The deep purple bruise, yellowing edges, the singular drop of red blood gliding down your grazed knee.

I am always falling down, scraped and scuffed like a pair of old brown boots, left on the stoop, weathered and worn. I want to be soft, simple, warm, like the rich, orange soup soothing my broken heart and broken bones.

But maybe right now I am just the bones,

I am just the scraped knee,

I am just the sleepy eyes after a day of emptiness.

I want to be the sturdiness and commitment of the hand knitted scarf,

But maybe right now I am that one green thread that keeps unravelling,

Maybe right now I am the purple jumper that has been sitting in the drawer promising to be finished.

I pine to be the winter comforts, but right now I need comfort.

I’m aching to be the warm blanket that holds you, but right now I need to be held.

Maybe by summer I will be the rosy pink of your cheeks,

The sunny yellow ice block that relieves you of the heat, or the crisp, green slice of lime in your vodka tonic.

Maybe by summer I will be the gasp you take after diving head first into the turquoise skyline, or the final sweeps of pink and lilac as the sun disappears into the evening.

At the very least, maybe by summer,

I will be,

A less muted shade of grey.