It's coming. It's opening the door slowly, it's an old creaky, big oak door with rusty hinges. It smells of dust and fresh flowers and kicks up a powder storm as it comes in. The sun floods in and you can finally see, stop shivering and feeling sorry for yourself and hating this goddamn freezing country and begin to like it again.
But, it's different now. I love spring. I love spring. Except that I walk around looking like a crack addict from all the allergy meds I take, but I love spring.
Still, there's something that's missing. I don't feel it.
I'm missing something.