You Desire to Linger

I am the season of grief.

No, love, I am not Winter. I am Spring.

I am the new beginnings, too soon after the end. And I am the endings, too close to the beginning. I am the rain after the blizzard. The ducklings who leave the nest. And those who never have the chance. I am the annual visit to the grave of a brother who had died in infancy. I am the birthday of the sister who visits that grave. I am the change.

I am growth. The beginnings of it anyway. The beginnings of the growing pains. I am pain. The knowledge that you must start again. And again. And again. Even as parts of you die. Death is necessary for growth, love.

Decomposition. Fall’s domain lends itself to me. Fallen leaves fertilize new saplings. Detritivores find sustenance in the past. You were always fond of Armadillidium vulgare. You would see them in the morning, crawling across the paved path that led to the cement stairs. The path that led to your yellow door. The one with the broken doorbell, and the welcome mat covered in cat hair. You remember.

Sunrises. You know the saying. It is always darkest before the dawn. But did you know that as the cock crows, mourning comes? You cannot forget darkness when it holds purple in the sky. You cannot forget death as life leaches its warmth. You were never a fan of Hirudinea. Of course, most are not.

Do you wish to forget?

You could pretend to.

You could pretend you have not been affected by Winter in any way. You could say you don not get cold. But I know you, love. You will be reminded. Grief follows you as a trail of muddy footprints.

Mud makes a mess of things. I make a mess of things. Winter possesses a control I have never known. One I will never know. There is beauty in her frost. A lingering. But I do not linger. I do not wait. I will not wait until your lingering is through, love.

You do not wish for me to wait. But you desire to linger.

This is not easy. No one should ever have told you it was. You should not have told yourself it would be.

I do not blame you.

Time moves far too quickly for resolution. Just slow enough for regret. Save your regrets for summer. Time will slow once more for you then.

But I will never slow for you.

Look at me. Not down. At me.

Good.

Now, look past me. Forward.

Not back. Do not look back. There is no Eurydice behind you. You must catch up to her. She is waiting for you. She is waiting.

She will not wait forever.

She will not wait, love.

You cannot either.

So, press forward. One step at a time. It does not matter if you stumble. All that has been reborn must also relearn. You must remember what you know. And use it. Because it has never been about knowing. It is the doing. All I have said is worthless if you do not set yourself in motion. So, go.

Towards Summer. Follow the sun. It does not set only in the West. It sets in the future. Your future. Race it there. You are fast, when you like to be. Well, you may not like it, but now is when you need to pick up the speed.

The road is long. You may not reach the end. It may hurt you as much as it heals you. You may find your cloak soaked in rain or tears. Sodden from the mud. Stained in crimson blood. You may feel heavy, as if Atlas has dropped his sky. You may be burdened with more than you can carry. But you will be somewhere new.

You will be someone new.

It will be a change.

That is the way of things.

Metamorphosis. A beautiful phenomenon. You used to try to catch the butterflies in your backyard. They would flit about the Convolvulus arvensis, landing and warming their wings in the sunlight. We share these memories with Summer. The memories of you and your siblings going quiet as you snuck forward. Pounced. Opened your hands. The little winged wonder fluttered out. You remember.

Butterflies make their own chrysalides.

You must make your own changes. Growth is not a passive feat. It is the process of killing the parts of you that hold you back, however dear they are to you. It is the consistent act of choosing to move forward. However slow. And however unsteady.

Life is an endurance sport.

So, endure.

The strength is in you. I promise. Do not roll your eyes at me. I do not take promises lightly.

A part of you has died. True. You will never get that part of you back. Something will grow in its place. With any luck, it will be something wonderful. But the wonder comes when you move. When you wake up. When you choose.

So, move. Keep your eyes fixed forward, and your hands on something solid. Wake up. Do not surrender to your thoughts. Choose. One more step. One hope. Then, another.

Try it.

Do not look back. There is nothing for you there.

If you do not move yourself, I will shove you.

Good. Now take another step. And another.

Eyes forward. Remember, but do not linger. Pass me by. No, this is not goodbye. It is only farewell. We will meet again. Someday soon, no doubt. When you meet Winter once more, give her a message for me.

Give her my thanks.

Glossary:

Armadillidium vulgare: Scientific name for pill bugs(also known as wood lice, potato bugs, roly-polies, doodle bugs, and slaters).

Hirudinea: Simply put, leeches.

Detritivores: Organisms that feed on and break down dead plant or animal matter, returning nutrients to the ecosystem.

Convolvulus arvensis: Field bindweed. Often mistaken for morning glories.

Chrysalides: More than one Chrysalis.

Snuck: A past tense and past participle of sneak.