"You and I, we’re both seasons you know?" she said. I looked at the crack in the sidewalk, fully understanding what the concrete was feeling as the divide grew. I replied softly, "what do you mean?" I traced the trail of weeds back and forth as I rested my weight on my right leg. "Well, we both have purpose here, we both make the world beautiful in our own way. I always have felt you were a lot like fall."
Autumn is my favorite time, the leaves turning always make me feel at home.
“Well, I think you’re like spring.” I don’t think she expected me to respond like that…maybe she had a bit more to say but I’ve never been good at thinking before speaking.
“You’re spring because, ever since we met you’ve been a place that brings me new life…and I feel like I wouldn’t be me if you hadn’t happened first.” She looked surprised, almost flattered. Her eyes were watering and I thought for once that maybe I had said something that made the tears mothers get at weddings when the bride walks down the aisle.
My optimistic thoughts were, as always, short lived. “You don’t know…you don’t know what I’ve done.” She was bawling now, she wiped the mascara on her index finger till she found a kleenex in her purse. “What I’ve been through…you don’t know how broken I am. I’m like winter, Michael, I put the world to sleep.”
We, men, aren’t so good with these types of situations. I was panicking… I felt like throwing up. The crack in the ground had become a canyon and I’m terrified of heights. I didn’t mean for her to hurt from what I said…she is every kind of lovely I’ve ever known…and I just didn’t know how to say it, but I tried anyway,
“I apologize if it’s not my place to say…but I am in love with who you are, and though I don’t know all of you yet, I’d say you look a lot like me. I’d say you’ve been a lot of places I’ve never been before, but I’m not afraid of that and you don’t get to tell me that I can’t be in awe of you. You’re spring, you’ll always be spring, and I’ll wait through every winter till it’s your turn to wake.”
This is the story that plays in my head. I don’t have the guts to add a name to the it…but I wrote this for you.
And I think it applies to a lot of us. We spend our time dwelling on our brokenness, hiding behind sadness, playing the role of the unchangeable, the unforgiven. I’ve become so comfortable in a place that’s low. Sometimes, I don’t even count myself as capable of the best things, but there’s a melody in my heart, and I think I’m finally ready to sing.
We may be mistake makers…we may hurt like we’ve been hurt, but when you’re ready, I want you to see what you look like to me. You’re a Texas sunset in a march evening sky (I’d know, I just saw one last night), and I guess, well, I guess I just wanted you to know