She paints her dreams while I sketch my nightmares. She uses all of the colors in the spectrum of light she carries. I use black ink because of the rain clouds I carry. Together we can create beautiful pieces of art. Tragic yet always so beautiful. She is the summer. I am the sickness. And I got that disease down deep inside my bones, infected down to the marrow. The setting sun limits my ability to find what I’ve been looking for. But your smile floods every image from corner to corner. And yes, I’m smiling back. But I’m still searching for something to complete me. I was created with something missing. So no matter how much I smile for now, it’ll all fade away just like before. I’m not looking through the rearview mirror wishing hindsight wasn’t so sharp anymore. By now I have recognized I have patterns within patterns. I’ll be the captain that goes down with his ship, because I’m the one who sank it. But I never drown with the heavy pieces and sink to the bottom. I float for just enough time among the driftwood to repeat the pattern. I’ll build another ship to destroy and repeat the pattern. Sooner or later I won’t have enough time to repeat anything. My time with living will be cut short when needed. Most of my time spent will have been repeating cyclical patterns and wreaking havoc on what I cherish. This time does feel different even though I’m still the tragedy while she is the beauty. I’ve been changing but I can’t change enough to alter the seasons. And when my leaves start to wilt and discolor, will she still find beauty in my deformities? Will she still have enough love to keep herself warm through the winter? The ultimate question and I’m always afraid of the answer. How many of my hellish winters can she or I endure? My biggest fear in life is waking up one day with my leaves all dead and branches broken, alone and fearing death. Thus confirming the thoughts that I’m not loveable and I never deserved all the good I was given. I’ll be empty with no hope of fulfillment. I’m starting to realize the harder I try to avoid my largest fear finding its life, I’m committing suicide to the hope that summer will keep coming back. Year after year. The more I focus on my fear not becoming reality, the more I lose what’s around me. I’m sick, I always will be. But those summer suns bursting with hope are what I live for. One day I will die, but with just enough love and effort, I won’t die alone. I want to be surrounded with love on my deathbed. And that’s the change that continues to save my life, the fact that I care enough to keep fighting. She is worth the fight. My life is worth the fight. This love can carry me through the winters. And with it, autumn seems to be just a little bit brighter. Bright enough to remind me that change will happen. Seasons will come and go. There will be darkness and fear, but there will also be light and love. I may be the sickness, but I’m not sick enough to lose my love for the summer.