When I get sad, I start getting the urge to run away to an island far away. Each day when my sadness grows worse, I add something nicer to this island that is safe from the craziness of the world.
There are only two season there, late spring, and late fall. The weather is always warm during late spring, and always chilly enough in autumn to wear fleecy sweaters in the late evening and early morning.
In the spring, the island is an emerald shaving in the distant blue sea. People plant flowers that grow in seconds and bloom until fall. The island smells like sugar and cotton candy and lilacs, and silver shimmer sparkles on every petal of every flower like a fairy dust. Nobody is allowed to wear shoes. All little girls wear their hair in long braids or messy curls, and little boys wear clip-on ties and shine their shoes like everyday is Sunday. Nobody has allergies, and everybody swims in the early to late evening until they are ready to go home for a dinner of watermelons and kabobs.
In the fall, the island turns into an alloy of gold and copper as the trees get ready for the upcoming spring. The air smells like apple cider and pumpkin pie from mema's house. The wind makes everyone's hair tangly and adorable, and everyone spends the afternoon knitting scarves for one another. People carve pumpkins that don't turn to mush until the spring, when they are replanted for fall. Everyone rides brown horses without saddles, and neighbors share their hay with one another. Nobody ever argues, especially not in autumn because of all of the festivals.
Everyone on the island owns a pearl and two diamonds, and they are not afraid to fall helplessly and unconditionally in love.
For the time being, that is all I have come up with. I figure I'll start to feel better soon. He was only the adoration of three-weeks' time and the early spring of the year is getting into my frost-bitten bones.