I had always been really excited
to be able to share an autumn with you.
(I was naïve to assume we'd even get past summer,
but) I absolutely couldn't wait for you and I
to try and name the exact colors
of the leaves we picked off the ground,
and I couldn't wait
to borrow your sweaters
(as if they could have kept me
any warmer than your hugs would)
and to kiss you while
the taste of our last lattes
were still on our lips.
I had wanted to read Thoreau
in the corner of the library,
right next to you
as you tried to perfect your journalism assignment
and not be able to focus on my book
because your thoughtful expression
was far too adorable not to distract me.

(I was right; you look best in fall colors.
But it's stopped being my place
to tell you things like that anymore.)