Fall is your season. There's something in the crispness of the air, the crispness of the leaves, the early sunsets - there's something the breeze carries to me gently, slowly... I know what it is. It's curiosity. And feebly, I put on my little spying eye and I go seeking for trouble. I knew what I would find - picture not updated for 5 years. I was wrong though - a close up I didn't expect. You were staring right at me. Those were your muddy eyes and your goofy grin, your bee-stung lip. Making a stupid face as someone correctly pointed out. Some eye bags, a vaguely asian haircut and wait, has life clouded those orange eyes a bit? Perhaps I thought they were sparkling because I was in love. 119 strangers got to like this picture. But not me. You probably don't even mean anything to half of those people. Then came the more familiar stuff - my internal organs defying gravity and all crowded around my throat.
Did I not know that the gentle whisper of a breeze will turn into (whoosh!) a gust of cold air? That it will make my hairs stand on their end? That no good has really ever come out of this splendid detective work.
But then how could we be human if there was no nostalgia.
Did I not know that the gentle whisper of a breeze will turn into (whoosh!) a gust of cold air? That it will make my hairs stand on their end? That no good has really ever come out of this splendid detective work.
But then how could we be human if there was no nostalgia.
No comments:
Post a Comment