Gentle Summer Evenings

Please come back to me because I feel like I'm just a shell wondering aimlessly avoiding the sharp fingers of the lurking fall that are pinching my neck throughout the day.

Without warning.

Here comes the sun is just a spiteful song that fades to the darkness like the voice of Pennywise in a forever cold cave that no-one wants to go to but every year has to.

Hating it.

Your warm light is a ridiculing memory in my brain that hurts when it tries to access the areas forever locked to its user that helplessly scratches the doors of past.

Fingers bleeding.

Trying to breath calmly knowing that at some point there will be panic that the darkness never ends and that its grip is so tight that I might not make it to the other side.

Rocking alone.

Hoping that this year the normal cycle of nature would be something else and the gentle light will come back because I so much want it to.

But won't.

So gentle you were resting around me with the same temperature as my skin and me desperately trying hold the time that never stops slipping through my fingers.

Fading away.

Now the only thing remaining is palliative care for those growing in the glass cube concrete extension that is only a shadow of the real summer where everything obeys gravity.

Ladybugs falling.

This is the moment I reminisce now when you have died and your place is taken by a force that turns everything to gray matter that never again will bloom or come back to me.

My heart.