November, be gentle with my melancholy.
I have been manufacturing little tragedies in my head when it all gets too calm, too quiet. Something must be wrong, I think to myself.
I am learning peace and how it feels to live inside of it.
The flowers are long dead, but they lay on the table, alone.
The trees surrender their leaves again.
Sirens call out in the street.
Someone I had fallen in love with is leaving.
Life goes on, mercilessly.