I never thought that my heart actually followed seasons.

Spring, summer, fall, winter.

Spring. Flowers. Blossoms. Bright colors. Blooming. Idyllic bliss. The beginning of this story was playfully made out. There’s no drama yet. People in spring would just gaze at the flowers around them and admire. A story like this would just start out like this. Nothing too serious happens at first. After all, what negative thing can you see when it’s the season of spring? Those moments were simply innocent. But spring would be the beginning of it all; it’s that significant. It wouldn’t seem as if the other seasons would come after. The world wasn’t made for eternal peace and oblivion. But that climactic event that brought me truth that would soon be timeworn should be included in that spring. That event changed everything like how the spring’s events would affect the events of the later seasons. 

Summer brings in the heat (and quite literally, summertime was my spring since that’s when I met him) in the situation. Truly, it shows progress. The sun makes more of an appearance compared to spring. It gets hotter and it also gets worse. There’s this intense feeling with summer. There started to be problems, but it was also the time when we got closer — close enough for problems to inflict me with more effect. It’s sad to think that it seems as if the mood gets worse from positive to negative as the seasons pass. This is where the drama happens when I still care. I still hold the memories of spring and believe in them. I still don’t give up. I don’t see why I should give up.

Fall really means the fall. The mood becomes lighter but sadder. I see things the way I should. All the leaves are falling and I have many moments when my heart drops. At this point, I’ve suffered enough. Too much happens and I start to accept out of having no other choice. The leaves and flowers that grew out of the trees and bushes during spring — I can’t but them back to their branches… where they once belonged. I accept the reality I can’t change. I accept that what was true in the spring may be false in this season.

Winter's coldness explains the season perfectly. This is when I feel that I've given up. I forget. I stop feeling positive about it. At times I didn't even care.

It really seems as if it would never be spring again when I experienced winter.

There’s a clear reason why the title is “Spring.”

When I think and when I feel, I start to think that I feel something. That doesn’t mean what I think is what I actually feel, but thinking about it gives me an idea. The more it will make me think it’s true if I admit it.

I feel Spring again, but the Summer, Fall, and Winter will never be the same. I will not let it reach that intensity. Of course, it is different.

My heart’s season lasted for more than a year. My spring started in April. It was really throughout a year of four of my heart’s seasons.

My hopes are starting to come back again, but they’re light hopes. Light hopes that I don’t want to evolve. Light hopes that I hope I will feel for someone better someday. 

I might start to lose my sense of logic and independence if I push through with this. It’s so obvious in the way that I’m once again inspired to type. I even look away or close my eyes and I don’t look at what I’m typing. This is my heart speaking through using my veins as word canals to reach my fingertips and punch the right keys to send my thoughts across.

That hope that you would change is being rekindled after I extinguished its flame.

And I’m starting to like it even if I shouldn’t, even if it will hurt, even if it’s irresponsible. But I’m not rushing in as blindly since I still have a hold of my mind.