• It is Fall,
    the days are long but feel so
    precious, rare,
    as if they will disappear,
    dying without a moment’s warning.

    Ardent, heated Summer faded so subtly into the bright, chill days of Autumn,
    flowers shedding their petals like clothing as their colors were stolen by the leaves.

    Fall has just begun,
    and yet already I feel Winter nipping—

    his cold breath invades my lungs;
    the chill of a harsh wind brings a flush to my cheeks, a freshly-slapped, shamed blush.

    The once-gentile breeze tugs angrily at my hair,
    pulling without mercy, tangling it with abandon and pulling at the snares, then without
    warning,
    it changes…soothing, caressing, smoothing back the stray locks.
    A bored, bitter, bipolar lover
    can go too far for me to return.

    The falling leaves are only a miracle
    until you’re ten;

    apologies are only meaningful
    the first thousand times they’re said.

    The leaves swirl as they float to the ground,
    emotions tumble gracelessly,
    like a heart tripping over its own beats,
    losing love faster than it can bleed out.
    Fall will bleed to Winter, and Winter will die. But then, so sweet
    like holding hands for the first time, again,
    Spring will blossom like a fresh, new beginning.

    A new hand to hold, enfolding yours like two lovers enfolded in a blanket,
    breathing in the heat of Summer.

    A new hand, a new chapter, new flowers here to bloom.
    A new year, a new heart, a new love.