Issue ElevenIssue Eleven PoetryPoetry

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By Jess Roscioli


The beginning was bliss.

A desire, with a depth – 

more forceful than the ocean we met along.  Purity, innocence, bliss.  

The coldest winter on record, 

the sea breeze piercing,  

intoxication, chaos – friends. 

And us, you. 

A million memories, 

compact into the illusion of time.  

Not enough.  

Like the Winter,  

The Spring followed – then Summer.  

And then gone. 

Like the merciless seasons we experienced that year,  when they departed, so did you.  

A painful nostalgia lingers.  

Like waves of winter crashing on the shoreline,  pulling you in and washing you back up.  

A temporary feeling,  

but one you never forget.  

The aching need to relive moments in time, subdued by the reality of the seasons, 

they will come and they will go.  

Now, the winter wind pierces the skin,  

subtle reminders of a love once lived. 

The scent of clean cold air  

bringing with it a painful nostalgia.  

Nostalgia of the temporary,  

of the forever moments that last only a season. The seasons were a representation of what was to come.  The seasons were you, 

impactful and impermanent.