The seasons have changed, and so have we

I survived my first winter in Taipei (though hardly frost bite worthy, it was a mere 11°C at lowest, nothing more than a couple of semi-permanent nipple boners) and watched spring seeped into the city.

The bare naked branches that used to sway in against the cloudy skies of January were riddled with leaf buds, each unfurling into a brilliant shade of green.
Brooding, grey clouds parted, revealing behind its thick curtains were cerulean blue skies long forgotten.
Flowers were literally beginning to bloom (this is beginning to sound like a piece of literature, save for chirping birds) and the weather just got warmer in general. Kinda like earth was a giant oven and God was doing a preheat. Do you think He was trying to bake human pies judging by the thermostat last summer?

I'm still in love with the same boy who took my breath away and forgot to gave it back.
It still hurt in the empty nights, twinges of agony when my iPod shuffles to a song we shared, when I pull his shirt on at night, when his status update pops up on Facebook, when we speak and pretend we were never in love.

I just got better at handling the hurt. I just got better at distracting myself, taking on full time bartending.
I'm having one of those mornings I find myself awake throughout the night, eyes swollen and heavy from fatigue, lungs constricted from absence of nicotine, limbs sluggish and sore, heart heavy and dry.

Sometimes I wake up and feel like I don't love him. Sometimes I wake up and I burn with despair, with anxiety of being away from him. I hope later when I wake up, it'd be one of those days. One of those days I wake up without a heart. One of those days I am comfortably detached from my heart.

Let me look at the world in black and grey again. Take away my rose tinted glasses. I no longer desire them.