I fell in love with you in September. Right as the leaves started to turn colors and the sky became dark. Right as you started to need a light jacket and another hand to keep yours warm. Right as the seasons changed and the wind turned. The clear skies and the chilled air pushed on our cheeks as we walked home and I knew that it was the end. The end of summer. The end of us. A summer fling can’t go into the fall. Into the changing colors and the frosty mornings. The seasons changed and so did we. Because summer can’t go into fall. So your hand let go of mine, the air nipping at the now exposed skin. Because even though I fell in love with you in September, doesn’t mean you fell in love with me.
September
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Labels
When you label someone you put them in a box.
A child has to be innocent, a woman has to be perfect, a man has to be strong. All these labels that we have for everything and anything. -
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People have always told me that I’m perfect. I’m this shiny object that doesn’t have an imperfection in sight. But people don’t know that nobody is perfect, and that even seemingly perfect people have cracks. -
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Mother knows best. That’s what they always say. But what happens when she doesn’t know best, what then. I am left out in the sea whirling as the currents push me this way and that.
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