The golden sunlight streams in through the half-drawn windows
It paints the unswept floors into a haze of warmth and unfinished tasks
Just beyond the glass there are light green leaves clinging to life in the heated branches of the trees
A gentle wind whispers sweet nothings to them as sweetness fades away
In the kitchen the toaster hums and the steamy plates from the dishwasher clink
A periwinkle shadow dances with the amber light beneath the cupboards
Time is ticking yet nothing changes
The days feel so long with chores looming overhead but so short in the darkened night
August clings to his hours like a miser to his pennies
Every beautifully slow moment an exchange to be written in the books that are always thrown away
And yet still, there is a beckoning to be heard
A lonesome, longing call
One that is far too short, but oh so sweet
The not-yet-rotted leaves dapple the gold falling from the sky, painting the grass such a lovely color
She holds close thoughts of mornings married to fog and cool dew, a soft sort of wealth
Apples and oranges, nothing but reminders of a love unrequited
Quietly, she cries, hugging the remainder of what could have been
Grief will follow her every step, through all the orange tinted roads and gold casted paths
Time is a cruel thief to her hoped for future, unmoving and unchanging time always keeps walking
Autumn fell in love with August, change fell in love with lingering moments
Apr 26
Apr 26, 2026 at 11:16 PM UTC
The golden sunlight streams in through the half-drawn windows
It paints the unswept floors into a haze of warmth and unfinished tasks
Just beyond the glass there are light green leaves clinging to life in the heated branches of the trees
A gentle wind whispers sweet nothings to them as sweetness fades away
In the kitchen the toaster hums and the steamy plates from the dishwasher clink
A periwinkle shadow dances with the amber light beneath the cupboards
Time is ticking yet nothing changes
The days feel so long with chores looming overhead but so short in the darkened night
August clings to his hours like a miser to his pennies
Every beautifully slow moment an exchange to be written in the books that are always thrown away
And yet still, there is a beckoning to be heard
A lonesome, longing call
One that is far too short, but oh so sweet
The not-yet-rotted leaves dapple the gold falling from the sky, painting the grass such a lovely color
She holds close thoughts of mornings married to fog and cool dew, a soft sort of wealth
Apples and oranges, nothing but reminders of a love unrequited
Quietly, she cries, hugging the remainder of what could have been
Grief will follow her every step, through all the orange tinted roads and gold casted paths
Time is a cruel thief to her hoped for future, unmoving and unchanging time always keeps walking
Autumn fell in love with August, change fell in love with lingering moments
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