Break-up story

National Geographic Society


The signs of trouble are always right in front of me. Do I see them? Or do I choose ignorance?

In this relationship, our time together grows shorter with the passing of each hour. Sometimes my love slips out the door shortly after dinner. The bloom of our love fades by the day, from the vibrant green of infatuation to the faded gold, red and brown of neglect. Our once-solid foundation hangs on a frayed thread.

Each year Summer and I break up as intensely as  a first love. Yet each year I find a rebound guy pretty fast.

Autumn is cool. He’s colorful and fun. But Autumn is more of a whirlwind romance. He blows into town on a tropical depression, sucker-punching Summer to the sidelines. Autumn takes over fairly fast, rearranging the landscape and lighting to his tastes. And just as we’re getting comfortable with each other, drunk on cider and doughnuts, playing dress-up and overindulging in sweets, he slips away in the dead of night, leaving behind a note scribbled in frost:

“Watch out for Winter; she can be a bitch.”


3 Responses to “Break-up story”

  1. September 26, 2008 at 1:16 am

    MZ, that was awesome. I hate to use the word awesome. It’s such an overused word. But, it was awesome.

  2. September 28, 2008 at 4:43 am

    This was amazing. I totally loved it.

    Right now I’m having the feeling of a jilted lover. Autumn sent me a text, he told me he’d come over after work, we made plans to hang out. And I waited.

    And the temps were over one hundred today, and I felt the sting in my heart, the feeling of being forgotten, overlooked, pushed aside.

    I chastized myself for listening to his empty promises, for letting myself hope, for not knowing better.

    And then there was the sweat. Let’s not talk about the state of my pits.

    I say, “Winter, you bitch, bring it. Because Fall is just a flake.”

  3. 3 MomZombie
    September 28, 2008 at 3:17 pm

    Yeah, Autumn is kind of a dick like that, isn’t he? That’s why he’s a fling at best.

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"It's not the tragedies that kill us, it's the messes." --Dorothy Parker
September 2008
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