Immortality means eternal life that means one lives forever. This insinuates the act of living. I have always been and I always will be.
Summer dazzles with his arrogance. He knows he is beloved and so he illuminates the Earth with light and heat. Autumn is blasé she is relaxed and calm. Keeping the temperature moderate and the leaves on the trees prove too much work for her to enjoy herself. She would rather sit back and watch the trees shed their leaves which lay on the ground in a myriad of colors. Winter is scornful and selfish. Nearly as arrogant as Summer however much more jealous. Her beauty is just as magnificent as his why should anyone love him anymore? Winter flaunts her beauty and wields it with power.
My siblings all have their own tastes for obvious reasons. Summer is the only boy in our family and would never associate himself with his sisters older or younger, which is why his season is so full of heat while the rest of my siblings are colder. Winter is the oldest and therefore must be the best and must have her way; the ice on her breath is the result of never being the favorite. Autumn could care less what people think. The mess of leaves may be tedious to some but the pallet of colors beautiful to her; the cool winds chill others bones yet still she find it refreshing. I am the youngest of the four and very much the most awkward. I never have seen the greatness of being as immortal and unchanging as the stars. Always hot, always cold, and always alone. There are days that I perch myself in a tree and gaze at young lovers as they pass along their way. They always look so happy. Like a poison curiosity swept over me the first time I ever saw this display of happiness. Summer had always talked about his love and he said she had as many as seven names he loved her very much. Winter too cold and controlling to love another punishes Summer by taking away his love for a quarter of the year. She freezes over all the oceans in a crystal prison of ice out of jealousy against what she can never have. I had never felt love like Summer but the curiosity of love has always thrived.
As I woke one morning in March the melodic tune of blue birds weaved through the trees gently waking all who were still lazily in their slumber. I stood up and threw my arms back in a stretch. I had been asleep for too long, I looked around and saw the small mounds of snow that were still stationed to the ground where Winter had left them. My long black hair was unkempt after my three seasons of sleep and it ran into my emerald eyes. My hands glided up to my face and worked skillfully moving the hair from my face. And just like that, I was ready for another Spring.