The year breathes awake,
like the first blush of April.
A tenderness unfurls, slow and deliberate,
mirroring the hesitant green on the branches.
My heart, a landscape softened by spring rain,
finds its echo in your quiet strength.
A love less like a sudden storm,
more like the persistent warmth that coaxes life.

The distance between us, a winter frost receding,
leaving the ground fertile for something new.
Our entwining is not a sudden grasp,
but the gradual weaving of vines reaching for sunlight.
In the unfurling of each leaf, I see a promise,
a resilience reflected in your gaze.
This bond, not brittle, but flexible and deep-rooted,
like the enduring heartwood beneath the blossom.

Each petal that drifts down, a silent offering,
carries a piece of my being, a whispered devotion.
The air itself hums with a gentle longing,
a melody only my soul recognizes as your name.
I trace the delicate veins of a new leaf,
and find there the intricate map of my affection.
This is not a fleeting infatuation,
but a rooted yearning that stretches towards you.

The breeze carries not just air, but my unspoken words,
a soft sigh that journeys across miles.
My heart beats a rhythm that only finds completion
in the imagined cadence of your own.
Until the moment our paths converge again,
I find solace in the enduring promise of spring,
a quiet certainty that this love, like the season's return,
will meet its fullness under a shared sky.

Amidst the daisies,
all I could see,
was you.

Just us alone,
beneath blue sky.

You beside me, eyes closed,
wind tracing its fingers
through your hair,
bathed in sunlight,
your soft smile lingering.

Oh, how I envy them—
for giving you a peace
I can only dream of.

April unveils proof,
within the course of fate,
during the days of downpour & rain,
frightening showers forge new ways,
for vibrant May flowers
to bloom in place.

To have forgotten
a thousand mornings of blaring sun

here, with April on the horizon
and a flit of transitional snow

my heart pulsing in my hands
my soul pulsing in my heart

here, with a new day on the horizon
here, with new places to go

to have remembered
a thousand evenings, a thousand endings

March is a long month,
Rainy days with no remorse.
Even when the sun does come,
Bleak winds drag it back to the sky caves.
Though if not for these tested times,
Would there be an April song?

The first strawberries bloom
Growing in the green room
Like babies in the woomb

While kids start playing in the outsides again
The strawberries grow their green beard again
Waiting for the kids to come to them, again

Kids start picking the blooming beauties
Not just girls
But boys aswell
Even if they don't like each other that well

Starting to play
And play again
Until the magic rewinds again

Oh april you're teasing the kids again
Bringing them together
And seperating 'em
Once again