oh September,
my September.
it’s that time again where my world is filled with the color orange.
the times I see the world in a vibrant hue through the youthful lenses of my eyes.
I carry the warmest smiles, though at times it’s only superficial.
yet, this year, I chose my color to be grey.
for no particular reason.
I think I’m growing fond of everything in between:
of nothing too scarce or nothing too much.
then I saw you.
you, who is the color orange.
what an odd thing to say.
i don’t like orange.
well, i think you're more of a grey than any other color.
you stand out and, at the same time, you don’t.
I got curious and maybe stared for a little too long.
then I saw it, orange.
oh september,
my september.
hi.
your smile is warm.
what makes you smile?
hi.
your eyes are sweet.
like freshly picked tangerines.
will I ever get the chance to see your world?
even if it’s just a page.
how does the sunset look when it’s reflected in your eyes?
is it lovely?
oh september,
my september.
it’s autumn somewhere.
my favourite season.
it’s such a shame there’s nothing like that in here.
I always long for autumn.
here, it’s always the rainy season, if not summer.
but my heart wonders how autumn feels.
then I saw you, by the window, and ****** that sun for shining too bright.
you, my autumn.
another beginning for my yearly bittersweet melancholy.
that hint of orange in your presence is enough for me to know,
even in my world of greys, my autumn will always come.
oh september,
my september.
everything and everyone is moving.
too quick, too fast, too much.
grey.
yet, you, my orange,
where do you look in world of greys?
what color catches your eyes?
is it pink? is it blue?
what is my hue to you?
oh september,
my september.
time is running out.
will I even get a chance to hear you speak my name across the room?
or will winter come, leaving you, my autumn?
the change is too quick.
you’ll just slip past by this chapter.
still, I want you to linger for a little longer
even if we remain strangers.
oh september,
My September.
there’s something missing in everything that I wrote.
my incomplete words are no better than strangers.
only I could fill in those blanks that you left unwritten.
after all, I was the only one in this love that is unrequited.
the only one who keeps on loving in autumn.
a love that doesn’t exist in your world.