By Chetna Dahal
My days move like the seasons.
My body aches, and I find myself longing for you.
I send whispers into the universe, manifesting your return.
But winter fades, and spring arrives.
Daisies and lilies bloom.
I open myself to hope—
That the hands I hold next promise never to give up on me,
To embrace my scars, dance with my demons,
And make love to my beauty.
As I cradle a chrysanthemum,
Summer sneaks in through the windowpane.
I retreat indoors, waiting for its heat to pass.
And then comes autumn—my favourite of all.
The leaves fall from their branches, knowing it's time to let go.
They carry the lessons of lovers I've survived.
The air turns crisp and gentle,
Withholding no promise that I was hoping for.
It hints at a new beginning, without holding on too tightly.
The trees don't mourn the birds they've lost.
They stand tall, strong, and unshaken.
Then night falls. It blends with winter,
Only to melt away and make room for a new day.