"This is the end," my mind says. "We are rotting like the leaves."

"Just a season," my heart says. "Just a season."

"No, we rot," my mind says. "We rot like the leaves."

"Just a season," my heart says. "New leaves are born in the spring."

"We don't want to be new," my mind says. "We want to be whole."

"We mourn the fallen pieces now so that we can be whole in the spring," my heart says. "Just a season."