Autumn leaves.
Autumn leaves us in a wake of what used to be, golden, brown, red memories fill our heads
with promises of a summer never to end.
But it did,
and now it's here,
and I'm falling down like autumn leaves.
Autumn leaves me questioning why those clouds ever had to move away from that beach house
and why the cold wind ever had to ******* away.
And why you never wanted to sit inside,
because we froze our ***** off just sitting on the rocks
and it didn't matter how much we shook, whether it be from the pills or the winter wind,
we didn't go inside.
Autumn leaves us with a bitter winter, pretty for a second, and then gone with the blustering wind
like some kind of ******-up morning after.
Autumn leaves me with a heartbreak, not my first, not my last
but an in-between overdramatized romance novel
with a disclaimer at the beginning that said: This is not a love story. There is no happy ending. (Is there ever?)
You filled my lungs like smoke, and you made my head spin like butane.
You were my first drag of my first cigarette, and my last goodbye of the first summer I stopped caring.
You are this town, a whole lifetime of crushes and a coffee shop down the street.
You're no more than a paper heart, bent up and torn at the edges.
I'm no more than a pathetic piece of tape, trying to hold you together, trying to fit your mold.
Autumn leaves us with an awkward silence, louder than any concert I'd ever gone to with you, any concert I'd ever liked to go to with you.
We could've drawn straws in a steamy cafe on a cold night, but Autumn never gave us a chance to start over with September.
Autumn leaves us with damage-control after your calamity, and the irrevocable steps I took to fall into you.
Do you even remember how I was on that first day? Nervous eyes and conversations about colors?
Do you remember the talk about getting out, New York City in all its romanticized glory?
Autumn left me with an emptiness in the pit of my stomach, because I feel so lost without you.