The summer was a tangled white sheet that I layed in for far too long. It was a still nude shade of pictures that I carried with me day to day, starring at each of them for too long before drifting off to sleep. It wrapped me up in a breeze and carried me into a fog. This autumn will be different. It’ll be crisp and I’ll be clear. The way all autumns are, I’ll find myself in one of the tree branches that lands on my window. It’ll be dripping with the sincerity of the changing seasons and I’ll be aching to feel its cold roughness on my dry summer skin.
11 Oct 2011 / 1 note