october march

Crunching beneath my feet, the leaves have turned again, and i’m counting my age in burnt down buildings and forgotten names. a cool chill pulls through the avenues of the city as it slowly awakes. the bird songs are being replaced with the sounds of music, traffic and people. i think about things done, sidewalk traveled, alone and with others… a blinding yellow sun peeks out from the cracks of the store tops, the smell of grills warming, it’s the morning.

i know that in my heart if i could stop thinking about her i could stop writing about her and if i could stop writing about her then i could stop loving her.

i know now that i was the love that made me love, it was never her.

all the things that made me love her were only in my head, and it was the beauty of love that i was in love with…

it used to make me cry. now it makes me smile.

eric w. desselle