Title TK

You told me I was like a year abroad
A place where you grasp the rudiments of speech, but still have to gesture a lot. There are those who stare awkwardly, clock their heads to the side in grotesque obviousness. You can almost hear them gasp.

I countered with a real injury, the unavoidable handicap: a limp, a slight reluctance. A deep breath. It is then that the cats appear, working their sparkly, static chemistry. My eyes are too lazy to take anything in anyways, but my ears never miss a beat.

Then Fall all over again. Leaflike, your foliage drops away, leaving you stark against the window, city lights licking your face, dancing in your eyes. I get it. But I let it go and go on. It will soon be too cold to stand outside, to walk everywhere we like. Maybe the snow will bury the smell of your effortless presence. It is the distinct fragrance of wanting it all in such a short time.

Decades will topple all over each other, making the passage of time labor intensive. It never works to look over your shoulder, it's hard to see the faces in those little paper squares. But it's so easy to hear you humming somewhere behind, where we last held it steady, as if the stakes couldn't have been higher. I can never quite put my finger on the exact tune.

From up here it looks perfect. I suppose the trick would be to fly.
Ready?
Watch me.