It's the end of autumn. And I don't have your arms to call home. And we're soon going to say goodbye, I know. For ever.
Isn't it interesting that during autumn, everything is so majestically beautiful even when everything is dying? But, you are going. And, 'we' are dying. And nothing is beautiful.
Trust me, it's the end of autumn.
I wrote this back in November. Wanted to post XOXO