Writing

We sit alone together 

Pretending to be something we wish we were

Not liking the something we are

Because, maybe pretending to be something  we're not

Will fix all our issues

I like to think I smile more when autumn comes

I caught myself grinning out the window

Trees back home don’t look like that, so full

A tree skirt has a Christmas connotation

But the middle of October brings its own

I am so creative

So flowing

Expressive

And yet so literal

Precise

Logical

I am a walking 80's cliche

A walking contradiction

I stare at the blank, grey wall.

A metaphor on the tip of my tongue

"Shoot, writer's block."

I sit in front of this screen, fingers resting on the keyboard.

Again and again, I think I've run out of words.

The season changed and so did you

Growing cold and flicking me away

As if I was just a fly that flew 

Too close to your nose

And as golden leaves fall to the ground, 

Sometimes I feel like I did too