It smells like Fall now,

bonfires and dead leaves.

Beneath my jacket, the skin on my arms bubbles,

trying to fend off the cold.

In a year, I’ll have to know

where I’m going and

I’m already scared.

 

Fog cuts off the sidewalk in front of me.

Good thing I’m walking.

 

I want you to be standing on the corner,

right where the sidewalk turns.

I want to navigate together not just because

doing it alone makes my throat close

but because it’s pointless without you.

 

My feet slap against the pavement.

Too late to turn around.

Phantom fingers from the past pull me

back.

Or they try.

That girl’s gone.

 

Poetry

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