Autumn Love

To love is to be shot. Given, it feels more like a bite from the ‘lovebug’ or a pinch from a tranquilizer, but alas we begin to feel lighter as we bleed and spray ourselves dry, giving and giving our love away (this is not an advert for the donating your blood, but do so if you are able!)

I have been shot, yet I do not haunt my crime scene. Instead, I ponder my shock and try to understand how I was hit. I feel the opposite of dead, and maybe this is due to the fact that I still do not know how something so deadly could lead me to believe in a thousand different lifetimes. Entering the embrace of spring this autumn leads me to believe that even the cold wind wants us to find our hearth. Where I was once nervous about this love, whether or not I would be left dead, I am excited.

This new orifice takes on an appearance in tune with the summer leaves turning colors of red, yellow and orange, putting their newfound warmth on display as the months get colder. He says I am beautiful and it is as if the wind has whipped my eyes to mist and kissed its cold breath to my now rosy cheeks. To have my heart brought back to life by the same entity that left me breathless after our first encounter has brought me to an eternal sleep; here my dreams are clear.

I kiss the scars that I once believed I would never heal from goodbye. They serve no purpose being buried underneath my now strong skin; their knives and lies crumple underneath me as I stand to my feet, to run alongside their fury and let the wind carry me to the clouds I now reside on. I am safe and comfortable where I have learned to let these past mistakes go, floating steadily among the suns ever-encroaching glow.