Fall is here

hear the yell,

back to school, ring the bell

brand new shoes, walking blues

climb the fence, books and pens,

I can tell that we are gonna be friends.

The summer ends. The air is getting cooler, the trees begin to die.

And I am just beginning.

Your autumn is my spring,
my awakening.
My Rebirth.

It is slower to occur than I would wish it to be. Baby birds are timid to break from their shells, and slower yet to leave their homes. But they must learn to fly, or they will not survive. It is not a world for baby birds.

What came to pass in the past is only the past.
I am learning to accept this, to embrace it, even as it creeps in under my door.
The present is overwhelming enough.
Loneliness strikes, mostly in the morning, when I wake and you are not there. But I am getting used to loneliness. I'm not sure if I will ever get used to you not being there.
Homesickness (it begs to wonder how one with no home can be so afflicted?)
And that old familiar sadness, the bittersweet feeling of starting again...without you.
But let's not forget the fear. Omnipresent.

I still miss you. But it passes. Day by Day, I am happy.
If not, consumed.

So enough, the acceleration will begin again. Passing time will remain the enemy, but for new reasons. I may even miss the endlessly empty days, rolling passed like lazy summer clouds. How soon we forget...
And just like that, you will be gone.
Or perhaps not.
Perhaps this is just a fantasy I have, some days, out of fear that you may live forever, my eternal prison guard.
But I cannot allow myself to think this, and the fear is quickly swept away, into dirty corners of my mind, so great the superstition that thinking it will make it true.

If not a prison guard, are you then a ghost? Haunting my days and certainly my nights, the undead? Your resemblance is uncanny, it is true.

Or are you are the proverbial angel sitting on my shoulder? The sole reason I cannot control the impulse to think: WWMD with every minutia of decision? It's you, isn't it?
But what sort of angel are you?
On which shoulder do you sit, and which message do you whisper in my ear?

Or do you only live still in the pages of my mind? And do you only live here still because I continue to allow you to do so? Perhaps it is time for you to go now. You have squatted here long enough.
Go.
You are not welcome here, do you understand? Get out! And don't ever come back to this place! I never want to see you again, or ever hear your voice. Go find a new home!

But please don't forget to write.