A Place We Will Always Be | Teen Ink

A Place We Will Always Be

June 2, 2011
By ClarityRedemption BRONZE, Bloomsburg, Pennsylvania
ClarityRedemption BRONZE, Bloomsburg, Pennsylvania
4 articles 2 photos 4 comments

You know that feeling? An admonition that your mind is giving? Well, I didn’t when you walked into MY life. I was just meandering on the long and winding road of life, when … BAM!
You hit me life a ton of bricks. Or a slap in the face. Whichever hurts more.
Now way is that bad. Nope. Like a splish of water you came. As if there was a leaky faucet in the sky. Just

D r I p p I n g,

O n E

D r O p

A t


t I m e. It was invigorating really. Like opening creaky windows of the house. Creaky, not because of they are in need of oil, but because they haven’t been used in a while. But because Summer is finally here. Summer just blew in air, filling up empty space with warm light and hope. Rudimentary hope.
But feelings change. You know- one second hot, one second cold. Infatuation over. Game over. Harsh words puff into my face, just as brisk air would in the wintertime. Not coming home to a vermillion glowing wood burning stove. More like standing outside. In the COLD. Without a jacket or gloves or hat. It is winter. Misunderstanding, because I thought it was Summer!
“It is an encumbrance standing in the cold” you said. What was a normal, frostbitten person supposed to do? I came in alright. Immediately introduced to innocent naïve Spring. A showing of colors fill my universe. Painting with a palate full of vibrate colors. Light streaming through enormous windows, filling the cathedral. Is it yellow? Orange? Oh wait, that is you and Spring, painting as always. Aren’t we quite the painter?
Back to square one, we are. Through summer we go. Jumping rope, playing hopscotch, drawing with chalk. Instead of us filling with ashes and falling down all the way to winter, we find a happy-medium. Autumn. Not candy sweet. Not bitter cold. Dark chocolate of a sort. Leaves turning shades of blush. Orange and yellow and green rounding up the show. Shuddering winter comes again. Time flies faster than the watch. Oh well. But winter never comes; at least it doesn’t for me. We remain in autumn. A place we will always and forever be.

The author's comments:
This poem was just something. It is supposed to a poem/story type. It kind of portrayal of running thoughts. Also, the poem, when I typed it, had different fonts to emphasize different points and to give the individual word feeling.

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