Old Love

I need the sun like I need air. I need its warmth that gently strokes my skin, making me feel like me again.

I loved the summer with my entire heart, and for the first time in a long time, it loved me in return.

And one who has loved and been loved in return knows what a glorious feeling that is. But one who has ever watched that love end knows there are few things that are as painful as saying goodbye to the very person you called home.

I have loved often and hard only to be set to the wayside–only to be thrown out like last spring’s flower clippings. And there I lie, wilting in the great wilderness as my love’s head turns towards the summer blooms.

But I did not need such a love when I had the warm embrace of the summer sun. It felt like an old friend I had not seen in far too long. It felt comfortable and familiar–a trustworthy kind of home.

So many things were new, but at the same time, so many things were not. Old friendships were made new, old sibling relationships were made new… but they had that old, cozy sort of feel.

I have walked this meadow before.

I recognize its blooms, its green grass, the way each part moves in the breeze.

But this time, something is different. Something is better.

The blooms seem a little taller and a little brighter. The grass seems a vibrant shade of green.

And as I travel on, I see clearly: it is not the meadow that has changed.

It is me.

I am older and wiser, but I am still youthful and naive. I still long for that fairytale ending. But I am not yet old enough to know everything I need to know alone. So for now, I will walk alone. I will admire the blooms as I go.

And I will be better when summer greets me once again as that old familiar friend. I will be better when its sunshine paints my skin.

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