by Deiondre Alexander

Created on: November 13, 2008

It is the curse that sneaks up from the budding recesses of our foolish, youthful hearts, that unbidden feeling that we expect to fade with the changing of the seasons. All feelings change with the seasons. Sparks from the past are tattooed into the angles of the sun, some memories cold like winter and others vibrant like spring, but each phase having its texture etched into the particular atmospheres. As one season reaches its twilight, the short-lived passions that found root in the heat of the moment this year are expected to fade into the gray, and new flames expected to burst forth from the fickle depths of a youthful spirit still learning its identity. But instead, these feelings betray you. They linger. Past their time, they burn in a fire no longer fed. Perhaps you were prepared to let go, for the better, but in the midst of learning who you were, someone changed you. For better or for worse, they changed you.

What was once a superficial game of wistful glances and wayward thoughts of attraction now torments you with what it was never supposed to be. He was always beautiful - so beautiful - but now painfully so. The charms that drew your innocent eyes now cut you deep, flaunting freely, for unknowingly, what you know you can never have. With a fervent meaning, you thank God for him every day, for a friendship that has shaken you past your bones, and means so much that you will burn in unrequited love to keep it so, just so, because you could never bear to do a thing to jeopardize the amazing thing you already have, and who would have the right to ask for more? But it burns you, even as you are thankful for it, and you look at him every day and think those words which should never be thought... "What if...", yet to avoid the terrible risk of daring to hope, you make sure to break yourself at the end of each day, by reminding yourself it is safer to remember the likelihood of "It can never be", and to leave it tragically at that. Over and over, you leave it at that.

It haunts you, though: the possibility that there could have been something special if you'd only opened your petrified lips - perhaps even something mortally special, more than has been seen in a thousand years. But how can you know, and how can anyone tell you, if it has not been seen in a thousand years? You tear yourself to ribbons inside weighing the risks, and the odds, surely unable to go on living if such a friendship ever crumbled, if you scared him away from whatever place he has at

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