It’s kind of terrifying
how one windy day
can turn the brightly-coloured trees
to bare branches.
You say you love this time of year
because of Christmas and New Years
and family, friends, and hope.
You forget that Christmas and New Years
only last a day,
and that family, friends, and hope
always have to go back to their home,
while you’re still trying to find your own.
You keep thinking that November
is your favourite month of the year;
something inside of you remembers
the first time he kissed you by the freezing water.
But ice thaws and summer will bring you to foreign land,
while he stays behind and thaws, too.
You find yourself voyaging on a boat to Russia,
and you think he’ll love it as much as you do.
You think he’ll love you as much as you do.
And when that love thaws from his heart,
you find yourself drowning in insecurity.
You forget that you broke up in November.
You forget the last kiss, where he walked out the door,
and the gusty winds slammed it shut.
You forget how you cried for months
because you wanted to remember how you laughed for years.
And though this story is old
and you’ve recovered most of your still beating heart,
the seasons come and go, and the cycle continues.
And no matter how many more men you kiss
or how many more times you hear “I love you”,
the leaves change colours and the winds blow them away.
And as you’re on the cusp of your future,
you wonder if every Christmas you’re gonna feel this lonely,
and if every summer you’re gonna find yourself wandering on a boat.
You wonder why Christmas only lasts a day, but Christ’s death lasted three.
You wonder why New Years is just a second,
but the actual year lasts a lifetime.
It’s pretty terrifying that I can’t locate myself in time,
or in space,
or in myself.
I’m just the leaf, waiting to lose colour and fly away.