juvenescentrangel
I never thought a season could feel like a person, until she walked into my life.
She wasn't summer's fire, and she wasn't winter's silence.
She was autumn-soft, fragile, breathtaking in the way everything about her felt temporary.
Loving her was like holding sunlight in my hands.
I knew it would slip through my fingers, but I held on anyway.
I remember her laughter, warm and careless, like it belonged to another world. I remember the way she carried coffee cups like secrets, the way she looked at me as if forever could fit inside her eyes.
But autumn doesn't last.
And neither did we.
This isn't my story-it's my memory.
The kind that lingers in the smell of rain, in the ache of music too quiet to sing along to, in the trees that still whisper her name when the leaves fall.
If you read this, you'll know her.
If you read this, maybe you'll understand why even after autumn left, I never did.