It was strange, the sound. I wonder how something so remarkable could exist. Just another natural marvel of our world, just like the seasons themselves. Death was all around but when you breathed in, the air masked itself as something that was cold, crisp, and refreshing. It’s like Mother Nature was mocking me, making a spectacle of the transition from life, to death, and back to life again, year after year after year. Most people devour it. They take photos of the reds, oranges, and yellows on the trees and look forward to the cooler temperatures. Even those who hate either the winter or the summer are reassured by the cyclical change that their favorite seasons would be back again. In the end, everything would be okay. Many of us craved that reassurance. But now, winter was officially here, and snow plastered the ground outside, smothering the dead grass beneath it. So beautiful, so pure, so soft and delicate. I think I think about myself too much. Well, I think about her too much. Not that I can exactly do anything about her invading all my thoughts, telling me that I could be just as beautiful as I desire. I could be the snow and the lake. I could be her. What I was currently being is unreasonable for even entertaining the thought. If I tried to transition, went through with it, I’d end up scorched, disappearing into the sun from the inside out. The ball of fire that burns inside me would finally consume me. I wanted to accept myself, but I couldn’t bring myself to face my own feelings. Sometimes I wonder if I should let it consume me. Let her consume me. It's not like I can blame her for trying so hard. Working to convince me it would work. After all, there is a part of me that is, and as much as I try, I can’t go my whole life hating all parts of me. Not even her.
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