RE: Secret planet

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Autumn is about puddles, leaves, and loving a girl while walking in both.

 

The sky was blue. That was the least important thing in the decor. The trees were orange, and the leaves had fallen everywhere. In puddles. Wet leaves. And we walked on these leaves, with smiles on our faces. Her eyes squinted while she laughed. I made her laugh. I would grin. My smile is an idiosyncrasy.

 

We played the games lovers play. These silly games we all know but we must keep secret. Those ignorant of these games could not picture them anyways. The trees were dark. The woods were bountiful. Leaves a plenty.

 

There was nothing but Autumn. Sometimes you have to say this, like this. There is nothing but Autumn. We dwelt in the purity of the moment. Fool’s in love. Dead leaves. The darkness of trees. When you look at a painting you see it. This is what the world saw this day as we played. Our kisses, our glances, our embraces, but the details of the painting.

 

I always wonder whether people really care when I talk to them about this, like this. I think of perfection a lot. I’m a real person. You can’t deny that from me. And I feel this Autumn. Perhaps you feel it to. We all share seasons. We’re all witnesses. To the orange leaves. To the puddles. We were all there.

Created: May 21, 2012

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