leaves aren't even thinking about the fall ahead.
i am thinking about death; but in a good way.
like going to sleep, but for longer.
i can't believe, even for a moment, that anyone old
was once my age and possibly younger.
i can't believe i am this old already.
my skin feels like a pupa.
my soul is a set of house-keys that make
an awkward shape in my pocket.
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