falling, by Brielle Barlow

Red and orange-tinted leaves fall from the trees above, hovering before resting on the ground

A chill runs around a rustic town, a bench where we used to sit for a while, remember?

The end of summer, where the days seemed to last forever, but not everything

The end of summer, there was nothing left by the time birds migrate south

Was it the way you held my hand, or the way I didn’t try to save us

You didn’t know the fight was over before the harvest began

The world turns orange and rustic red exactly like the

Candle that was melting down before your eyes

It’s the right time for you, but never enough

Fading the way like the spark in my eyes

Whenever you mentioned me leaving

Maybe it’s your fault or maybe

it‘s mine, but I think that

maybe the days just

get shorter in

autumn