To sum up their years?

The history of love and hate.

Perhaps love is too strong of a word.

History of lust and hate.

No.

Not it either.

Years spent on and off

Left and right.

Up and down.

Years spent through the whitest winters.

Weekends spent in a king sized bed surrounded by one another's loving embrace

Summers spent in the valley of mother nature.

critters chitter chatter.

The sun glazed on the lakes, its shiny , sleek appearance oh so lustrous to one's eye.

Summers spent on late nights.

Up with the moon conversing of the future to be.

Late night walks were filled with joyful smiles and warm laughs.

Spring?

Spring was prime time.

Spring was spent in the most vibrant manner.

Spring was adventure.

Spring was excitement!

But most importantly,

Spring was secrets that needed to be amended.

So here it is,

This love is bitter.

This love is a jar filled lies

Eyes red, lights gone

Bloodshot, regrets

Love's gone, stay gone.

This love fuss

This love fights

This love cries and lose connection in sight

The history is blind.

The history is dark.

The history of love is indifferent

For how can you follow along if you are not on the same page?

Years spent back and forth

Years spent in quarrel

Fall was spent in isolation

Isolated by choice.

Alone by wish.

Fall spent in weary cries.

Deep red cuts of painful sounds and hateful voices.

Summer you could hear the heartbeat.

You can sense the revival

You can feel the awakening

Summer you were at peace

Winter was the sorrow of the mind and body.

Winter brought back the cold and the hate.

Winter brought out the animosity and the spite.

Spring was nevermore...

Spring is bittersweet memories.

Spring is broken dreams and broken voices.

Spring is broken love.

Heart beaten, coarse throat

Loud screams, weary faces.

The history of their years?

To sum up would be the history of bittersweet love and hate

But...

The love's gone, it's gone

This love?

There is no love.