July 30th
Happy near August– the air felt like autumn today and I thought of you like our knees were still touching in the backseat of the cab. It made me wonder if maybe our story is stored in the veins of leaves. In the summertime, lush evermore, but unregarded. Too high above us for us to reach, but it’s not like we ever try. But come fall, and I swear, every cold breeze is your laughing breath. What a sweet October we shared, but now each autumn, cruel memories seem to fall from the skies– a quiet apocalypse, a gentle doomsday. Red, yellow, and orange, their brilliance a symphony I cannot suffocate– suddenly it becomes impossible to ignore what I tend to. But soon will arrive November to once again mortalize what you left me with. I will forget until spring comes along to wash away the distractions with the melting of the snow, and I will know that “peace” was only ever you preparing to soon haunt me again.
