There is something bittersweet about winter. I always say that it is my favorite season, but the snow and the holiday always induce uncontrollable nostalgia. When spring arrives, the rain washes away the bittersweetness and replaces it with spirit.
Winter lives on a foggy island of childhood yearning. Opening gifts, playing in the snow, and drinking hot chocolate makes me want to turn back the clock and run straight into the memories. Spring exists in a field of dandelions ready for picking, filled with enough sunlight to make up for winter’s lack thereof. Spring’s memories are alight and fervent, resparking a flame in me that died out sometime in December.
Spring reminds me of making flower crowns with my older sister and watching them inevitably fall apart. It tells me of those strange purple flowers I used to eat with my friends at elementary school recess, and how I always lied about them tasting sweet. It exists in making wishes from dandelion puffs, running around in the rain, rainbows after a storm, and basking in the sun while laying on the lawn.
Winter passes every year in a wistful haze, while spring lets me feel human again.