“…as much as i definitely enjoy solitude i wouldn’t mind, perhaps spending little time with you sometimes, sometimes…”

October, welcome in.

Sometimes, we don’t have narrative threads, we just have lists:

Long walks in the early autumn dark. Smoke and leaves and rain in the air. Driving through grey-shrouded mountains. Books that fall open to important pages. Waking up early on purpose (but also) sleeping too long and too late.

[An absence of colour again. Sharp teeth, long nails. Counting against the clock.]

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