i call you love.

nothing more than the faintest scent of autumn; cider and maple leaves and all the browns and golds you ever tried to count in my eyes. i'm overcome by the memory of a man-made lake in the middle of nowhere and two shadows tracing the contours of one another's palms because they've got nothing better they could imagine spending their time on; the sun is falling and his chest is rising from the hefty breaths of two shadows becoming one. the moon whispers its' salutations but neither hear - the birds sing goodbye above the tree tops in the distance but neither notice - there's nothing more than two shadows becoming one by a man-made lake in the middle of nowhere, and i am overcome by the reality of four walls surrounding me and the absence of both cider and one who counts the colors in my eyes. one becomes two and shadows become memories and autumn becomes a part of the past that keeps me awake at night, wishing for one last walk or palm line to trace.