You were April, and  I was October, still we shared something in common.

Nature had forced on us the bittersweet fate of change.

But even when the last leaf fell, or the first flower bloomed; our roots remained the same.

Just like there is history in the scars left behind on cherry trees.

Just like there is seeds growing from last years May flowers.

Just like the swallows migrate back to the same place they left.

                                                                               ….Just like that.

Even when you are spring and I am fall; we meet every year in February.