the rush of falling leaves,
the last farewell before
letting go and surrendering
to the future

I remember the gray rain
frustrated beating against the sky
tired, listless strokes of liquid
scratching the windowpanes of my soul

the fog that descended, blur of silence,
a ghost from which anything could surface
at the end of every path, in the face of every cloud

a subtle foreboding, as we waited for something
anything
everything
to begin, or to end

I remember those days
and even now, I miss them.