It is December
The frigid wind cuts my cheeks
Sadness creeps up behind me like a lion stalking its prey
It’s January
The snow is pressed against the door
I do not want to leave the house anyway
Because the sadness has caught up to me
It’s February
Then it’s March
Months pass like clockwork
The sadness has morphed from a small pest to a horrific monster
The cold seems to be endless
However one late March day
The grass seems greener
I noticed a tulip poking it’s head through the dirt
The sun is warm on my skin
The air smells of summer and ice cream and the beach
It is April
And I am happy
Talia Botelho is seventeen years old and loves writing and reading. She also dances and plays the flute in her free time.