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I feel the crisp November air
Dressed warmly, the clothes I wear
I see those try to escape the chill
Huddled close, their voices are trill
I spot a leaf slowly drift down
A tree looms, it is brown
No more denial for it is fall
The warm summer, no longer forestalls
Perhaps it is time I move on
To my mind, I should not be a pawn
Some say time heals all wounds
How I wish my mind be re tuned
Their voice is forgotten
The memory all rotten
Like a leaf that might decay
Because November, has struck it with dismay
Warm Breeze on my skin
A drip of coffee flows down my chin
An Ambrosial scent fills the air
Life has been fun to bare

Ambling through the park
I ponder of little remark
A bird’s song fills my ear
How this feeling has no peer

In the morning I slowly wake
I wonder what the day shall partake
Yet I feel no rush to embark
For the I am enjoying the song of the Skylark
Through the window I stare
Blanket on my lap, coffee in my hand
Diapason of love playing in the air
Though my mind is centered on the deluge of November

Not a drizzle, more than a storm has the month been
Emotions strike forcibly and incessant
Lives upended and carried away
Like rose petals flowing down the street.

All are affected, none left safe
From death to labor, souls are changed
I wonder why the times are so turbulent
Though it does little to stop the deluge of November
What have I found to not disappoint me
Not the unreliable companionship of others
But instead the vivid worlds of stories told
For I have found, it is my book and I versus the world

True are the words ascribed on the page
For they offer wisdom seldom found in peers
Not to say I enjoy being so recluse
For I have found, it is my book and I versus the world

Characters each with their own tales
Sentiments laid out for all to bear witness
Inspiring anyone who wishes to peruse
For I have found, it is my book and I versus the world

Be that as it may, each person has their own fable
Always ever changing in theme and cast
It is up to you to take part in it
For although it is my book and I versus the world, my book encompasses all
No one tells you how a relationship is your own personal story
How the entire time, the memories you make become pages to read again
How the full range of emotions you feel in the moment pale in comparison to the words you dwell on.
When you finish, a hole in your soul forms. Begging to not feel so unwhole
A tragedy in three parts is told.
You open a page, become addicted to what is shown.
You are entrapped, feeling full of life and wanderlust at an exciting adventure
However, you eventually reach the end, as all things must do.
No matter how long you took, how many themes were told; the narrative is at an end.
You might wonder what went wrong, question if you made the right choice,
If you could change one thing how differently things could be.
But as life would have it, time only flows forward.
You search and search to feel the same again,
But as each story is unique to yourself, no relationship is the same to everyone
Am I still Dreaming?
Dreaming of her, of how she cared?
Dreaming of me, and my hopes for us?
Oh, how I wish it were just a dream

Am I still Dreaming?
Dreaming of waking next to her
Dreaming of hearing her laugh
Only to feel melancholic again

Am I still Dreaming?
Dreaming, to slowly forget her
Dreaming, has my life moved on
I think I am Dreaming, no more
Can I love again as I loved you
Will I be able to treat anyone the same
For I don't know if it's you I mourn
I feel my love is forever outworn

Will the feeling of numb ever fade
The pulls of my mind freshly pried
Dreadful aches burden my soul
I wish to stop not feeling whole

In my pain I am not alone in rationality
Strangers and Friends volunteer their own
We all share in plenty of misery
Anyone who disagrees is full of self-trickery
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