An Ode to Spring (in a bad YA Romance)

Best enjoyed with this music playing in the background.

Spring? Where do I even begin with Spring?

I know we’d been on-again/off-again for… as long as I can remember. I wasn’t stupid. I knew the pattern.

Spring would come on cold or broody at first, but then they would start to warm up to me. And it would feel like magic. It would feel [exactly? completely? just like?] precisely like warm sunlight on my skin. And yeah, they would give me flowers, but not, like, roses, because I’m not into that. I’m talking [what’s a weirdly specific, quirky flower? Come back to this later. For now just call it:] GOOD FLOWER.

And yeah, I’d let myself be swept off my feet. Why shouldn’t I enjoy it? Maybe it would be different this time…

But it never was. [Add exclamation points, or is that too much?]

I know after two weeks they’ll start using that [yellow? ochre?] golden powder that Spring knows I hate (and makes me cry every time), but they’ll keep using it anyway until I feel like I can’t breathe. And I’ll hate myself for it, because it’s a red flag, but all I’ll be able to think about his how all that powder makes Spring’s [eyes, no wait] skies look emerald green. And when I finally give up and get used to it… spring will leave me for her: Summer. I’m sweating just thinking about it.

And here they come again. And I know I’ll fall for Spring [maybe underline this so people realize how clever that was?]… and I know that the good part will only last the briefest of whiles.

But that while. That damned while.

Revision Note: Maybe add five pages of describing kissing?