I think about you fairly often. Almost every day. It's not love. It can't be.
Why does being happy seem so impossible?
Would you notice me if I left?
Autumn dearest. You are drawing near. You are here in technicality. But I still have yet to fully feel you. I try every year to distinguish why I love you so. Is it the wind and chill in the air? Is it the smell of crisp leaves and brisk mornings? Is it the colors orange and gold and red gleaming in the sun? How do you make me feel what I feel and leave me in the unknown limbo of what to call it?
I watch you dance in my eyes, flickering but never extinguished. I see how you glow and I wait. I wonder. I hear the crackle and I feel at home. Candlelight, you know me. And I know you.