My pen bleeds onto paper ever September.
Melancholy is my muse.
To millions, this month is a beginning; to me, it’s always a goodbye.
The seasons change and drag us along with them. As the leaves turn from green to yellow, and then to brown, my mood begins the same change.
Perhaps I’ll always be sad in the fall; who wouldn’t be if they’d lived the same autumns that I have.
Missing, always. Madness too.
The leaves dry, as do my tears.
I wish to crumple up with them on the ground and let September pass me by while my pen bleeds me dry.
Hello, September.
Goodbye.
.
.
.
Hope this finds you well,
-L
Sight Unseen 