The universe isn't rooting for us

The universe isn't rooting for us,
but I am.

The seasons which are passing too quickly -
they aren't rooting for us,
but I am.

Summer, especially, seems to mock me,
leaving me in his dust and I lie, 

panting, on shards of longing, 

choking on flecks of memories.
I could never keep up with anyone     let alone the speed of
  the growing chill   and   greying skies;
the rising wind,  the falling leaves.
I used to think summer was rooting for all lovers,
  but now,
I realize he is only playing at Cupid when the days are long and warm -
a temporary Cupid whose blunt arrows are tipped
with weak poison.

Time isn't rooting for us,
but I am.
it seems as if every passing second laughs with delight as
he flies past us -
every minute regards me with eyes of malice, reveling in his agility
as he slips from my clumsy fingers.
The hour, like its younger brothers,
escapes with ease.
He too, shows me no sympathy.
I was a fool
  to pray that days would not end if I refused to shut my eyes.

Melancholy isn't rooting for us,
but I am.
She sits atop my chest and sinks her claws deep,
she knows the pain can stop my heart.
She mummifies me with shadows and she holds on so tight
that I cannot breathe.
She laps up my tears and sinks her teeth into my sadness.
The moment you leave me,
Melancholy feeds.

But surely,
Happiness is rooting for us,
as I am.
my smile that spreads and my heart that skips -
your voice which softens and your lips that linger.
  Surely,
these are the things that root for us.
It is intimacy that roots for us;
Your breath in my ear,
my hand in your hair,
and your lips brushing my palm when I reach out to touch your face.

I am rooting for us
and
I am not afraid of the universe.

_