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Will

Leslie seems more distracted than usual today. I notice it the moment that I hear her voice on the phone.

"How's my pretty poet doing today?" I ask, lounging back on my bed and staring at the poetry that has overtaken my room in the past five months since we started dating.

She sighs, a light breezy sound.  "Tiredly plodding through life."

There's something different about her voice, but I don't press it.  "Are you coming over later for a movie?  Chelsea has been asking about you."

"You mean, your guardian has been asking about me to make sure we're not planning on doing anything when she's not home, right?"

"I already promised Chloe and her that we weren't going to end up like Michael and Caitlin," I answer, remembering how the twins told me that any dates I had were to be chaperoned.  "Besides, they'll both be home."

I hear springs creak in the background.  "I guess I better get ready if I'm coming over later.  Love you, Will."

"I love you too, Les the poet."

Setting the phone aside, I contemplate the poetry on my walls again.  I love it all, love that it was written with me in mind, but my favorite is the one that Leslie gave me the day we had our first conversation.

That is, our first conversation in the hospital after my future self shot me.  But that's a different story.

It hangs next to my bed, and I reach out my fingers, tracing the words as I read them.

Winter and Spring

You were harsh, distant, cold
Unapproachable like a dragon and his gold.
You seemed barely real, barely alive
But it all was just lies
To hide the deep dark pain within
And to prevent you from feeling again.

I was shy, lonely, barely alive
Trapped in a world trying to survive.
I seemed just perfect, just fine
But that seemed to not be mine
To ever fully again live and love
And I wore it like a glove.

You were a blizzard, looking calm and nice
Before you coated the world and everything in ice.
You seemed to withdraw inside
But it was merely a disguise
To protect your heart from the world
And to refuse your shield to unfurl.

I was a trapped bud, looking empty and dead
After I locked myself inside of my head.
I seemed broken and battered
But truly only the outside was shattered
To hide from people in my shell
And to never show and never tell.

You were Winter: harsh, distant, cold
Always covered with frost and snow.
I was Spring: shy, lonely, barely alive
Desperate plants and animals trying to survive.
Underneath the bitter unyielding frost
Was just a little boy who was lost.
Underneath the struggling spring bloom
Was just a little girl full of gloom.

You are my Winter:
Bitterly cold, harshly beautiful, slightly distant.
I am your Spring:
Overly shy, overwhelmingly lonely, mostly alive.
We need each other:
To face the day, to find our place, to remain somewhat whole.
Two changing seasons: one bitter, harsh, pain-filled
The other nervous, overwhelmed, paper-thin.

I sigh.  We had promised each other that we wouldn't ever go back to being Winter and Spring with each other, but during that phone call, it felt like Leslie was miles away.

Something is going on, and she would lock it down tight inside if I let her.

I am determined not to allow her to withdraw again.

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