November
I have searched for love through so many seasons. I have listened to the hush between raindrops and dreamed of a love I have yet to know. Sometimes, I wonder where you are, what your laughter sounds like, and whether your heart has ever longed for someone you have yet to meet.
“And now, November, my love, will you be gentle with my heart? Will you let this be the season our hearts finally recognise each other?”
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There are twenty days left in this tender little season, and I intend to spend them looking for you. Perhaps I shall find you in the scent of rain on old stone, between the pages of a forgotten book, or in the golden hush of a late afternoon. Perhaps our paths are closer than I think, separated only by a few streets, a passing season, or a moment we have not yet reached.
And if November passes without bringing me to you, I shall carry this longing into the seasons yet to come. There will be other Novembers, flowers to bloom, and evenings beneath the silver moon. I shall keep a little place for you in every season, as the years gather their own stories around me.
But if I should find you before November fades, I hope you will let me hold your hand, draw you into my arms, and rest my cheek against yours. Perhaps I shall tell you of all the Novembers I spent looking for you, and how lovely it is to finally have you beside me.
And when autumn gives way to spring, I hope my heart will still find a thousand little ways to fall in love with you, again and again.
