Spring is coming, I can feel it.
But winter's not over yet.
I prefer only sun.
I don't like the grey.
But I think I see pattern & reason in pain.
Don't like it though.
Don't want it.
But just like the trees look barren & dead just before they bloom,
Life will turn again & the sun will come out of hiding.
There's pattern in the empty branches.
You can see more clearly through them.
What was hidden is revealed.
Sometimes truth isn't pretty.
Sometimes truth hurts.
But the seasons turn & hearts heal & trees bloom. And spring comes.