You used to sit in that old bench and wait for me. Always in autumn because that's when you came to stay. Your family tossed you back and forth as though you were nothing but you always did make sure that, no matter what, autumn was your one fidelity. You were always there for me, always beside that field, before that fence, beneath those trees.  Always waiting patiently on our little wooden bench.

When the seasons started to change, the leaves turned, the temperature cooled, I opened my window to see all the more clearly, I read out on my porch to be any bit closer, I walked through the yard to be ready to run when I saw you. When autumn came, it brought you along by its side every single time without fault.

Autumn used to be my least favorite season because it forecasted winter. It is my favorite now and the reason is a secret, so I say it is my favorite because it gently kisses away the summer in its beautiful colorful caress, just as summer deserves.

You didn't come this year and I knew well you wouldn't. So when I sat out on my porch everyday watching our little wooden bench, I lied to myself. I told myself I didn't wait for you to appear, hoping through insanity that I would see you again. That you would be released to me forever.

Spring used to be my favorite season because it blossomed into summer. It is my least favorite now and the reason is too hard to for me to say, so instead I lie that it brings on too quickly the scorching heat of dreaded, lonely summer days.

I suffered through those seasons that year, unmercifully slowly as the days seemed reluctant to pass me by, reluctant to let me be; as if I could just be- without you. As if I could be anything but lonely, anything but miserable, anything but afraid, anything but everything harmful, without you.

Spring was once my favorite season because it blossomed into summer. It is my least favorite now because it took you away from me each year in those desperate, lonely summer days and because it took you swiftly from here and into heaven's grasp.

I went out to our bench everyday that autumn and waited for you, just as you used to wait for me. I sat there alone—the wind comforting with its arms wrapped over me—thinking of you sitting there. Sitting there where you waited for me; sitting there when we were together; sitting there when your heart still strongly, confidently beat. You don't sit there anymore.

Autumn was once my least favorite season because it forecasted winter. It is and will forever be my favorite, and only you and I know why.