pretender to the fall

The leaves are dead, yet they still crowd the branches, the crown pretending towards the sky. This worn through blue, this gray lace glamour of the gloaming’s gentle crush. We spill over the horizon, and the sun keeps shining on. The world is a weight of mass and mind, a worry and a wasteland, the threat of gathering facts. The world fills up with shadows, relinquishing the day. I miss you, and pretend that it’s okay.

The world happens fast, whole months and seasons speed past while I smoke and cough and watch the clock. Heir to the long night, kin to the lonesome wind, the fool of the thousand passages staring at the ceiling. The dull nights of lights and screens. The long days regretting the sun.

It’s to my last that I will love you. All the words once the words wear away. Summed up and sentenced to these further indignities. Some letter cracked and creased. Some photo on your phone. No more days entangled in limb and clockwork. No more promises to turn to dust. The hollow upon awakening, and all the words that follow.