because you are a fading stranger, a breathing ghost, replacing me with whims known only for a couple months — but while you’re bagging leftover foliage from the previous season, clearing your land of the past to make room for the new, I’m crafting crowns from the last few fallen leaves, remembering and cherishing, but moving on with handfuls of spindly twigs and moleskine notebooks filled with hindsight (we may be going our separate ways, but my guess is that we’ll do just fine).


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