It was a typical summer's day when I had that epiphany. Warm, bright, and to those who had selected summer to be their season of spirits, free. Just as the wheels of the seasons turn, spiralling through an infinitely repeating cycle, so does the distribution of happiness cycle through those living within them, for the total amount of good in the world never changes.
My season of spirits is winter. Because there must be an equal amount of souls within each season, a lot of souls do not get to select a season for themselves. Most try to choose summer, meaning that many are instead randomly placed into one of the other three seasons to even out the numbers in some sort of cosmic game. I am one such soul. There's a ring to the word, "summer", that youth seem to hold on to. Many children name their first toys "Summer", regardless of their season of spirits, due to such a warmth and glory associated with it, and perhaps the ability of a toy to bring light and joy once the darkness of the night ends.
As a winter soul myself, summer can be a difficult time of year. Not from a metaphorical standpoint, but rather one of practicality. I've learnt to associate happiness and freedom with cold weather under a bleak sky, because it is the only time I truly feel I can be who, or what, I want to be. My emotions grow, vibrant and green, as the grass wilts to grey. I guess that's what people mean when they say that the total happiness value of the world is constant.
"No, that can't be," I had insisted, and though my insistence was internal, the world seemed to know. It also made it very clear that it knew.
Every summer, more and more happiness seemed to drain from my soul. While others, including those who were not summer souls, could handle the disagreements between their spirit and the season, it seemed I was the only one completely debilitated by the season I had so recently glorified.
Author Notes: Another old piece, this time from December 2018. I promise I'll post newer pieces very soon! Again, feedback would be lovely.