The Ends of Being and Ideal Grace

The heat beat down on my head as I walk to class. My dermatologist will strangle me senseless if she knew I went walking around without sunblock again. I am grateful for a tiny swirl of wind that rifles through my loose shirt. Yellow blossoms float down, dancing happily with the breeze. The scent is sweet and fragrant, with a hint of earth and wood. It is the aroma of a sunny day, a harbinger of summer. I linger on an open window, taking it all in. The trees are swathed in all colors of their green splendor. The smell of the lush leaves and dry earth assault my senses.

Summer has arrived as we are about to leave. You will soon leave my life as I will soon leave yours, onward to the lives we want for ourselves. I get this weird feeling that my time with you is a two year long summer, and I spent it basking in your eyes and living in the happiness I found with you and your gentle ways. But it has now come to an end. I think of your eyes, your lovely goldenrod eyes, and I feel them warming my face like the morning sun. I will miss this warmth. How ironic it is to have my heart's summer end at the blossoming of the flowers! I never had any problems with goodbyes but I find it so hard to deal with this decrescendo, the waning music of what has never been. Everyone wants the summer to stay and it would be a perfect world if only we could both stay forever. But there are pains I want to let go and sins I want forgiven. When the summer ends, the flowers will have wilted, the leaves fallen and trampled. The only smell and sound will be that of the rain. And rain will wash it all away. All but the memories of happiness, wonder and warmth of one lovely and gay summer day.