spring, unfortunately

Today, I noticed the plum trees and daffodils had begun to bloom. Every year, it rings bittersweet: they are coaxed out with a few days of warm weather, then beaten down by wind and rain before the sun ever returns.

I feel sad in a similar way: a deep shame that I still let myself get excited about anything. Do I ever learn? How long can I blame my naivete? Will I remember to stay closed up the next time I feel sunlight on my face?

I walked under the pink blossoms and wished I were somewhere far from here. These flowers and their optimism torment me. I hate myself for saying it, for being so jaded over some damn flowers, but if I wrote anything different, it’d sound completely soulless. Picture a version of Mary Oliver who didn’t believe in God as much.

I don’t feel awful or disappointed; it’s a kind of begrudging acceptance I’ve adopted after being let down so many times. Just one long sigh, and I’m off on my way again.