I'm holding onto September. Two months later, and I can still feel the changing of the leaves in my blood; the surrender of summer flowing through my veins. October is gone now, and soon, winter will begin, but it seems I'm stuck in fall. Autumn has been stained by my teardrops; therefore, I must move on. I wonder if I'll one day look back and call these fading days of fall my home.
YOU ARE READING
The Scrambled Philosophies That I Call Thoughts
PoetryThe scattered musings about love and life by a(n) (a)musing girl who knows little of either.
