vampireapologist:

It happens in October.

When the days aren’t as long as they
were

two months ago.

Ten years ago.

Sleep came easy when I was full.

When the days were full

and I fell into bed

my legs aching with the blocks I ran

and the worlds I distanced by crossing
the street

and the universes I walked in and out
of in my backyard.

and I woke up feeling eight hours
better

instead of ten years older.

Now leaps and bounds don’t quite reach
my bedroom door.

And I sit up late nights.

And my legs ache from being folded for
so long.

And when I shift I hear the water in my
stomach.

It happens in October.

Now that I can finally carve the
pumpkin just like the picture

and realize it’s not the way I wanted.

And I’m tall enough for a county fair
stamp that lets me on all of the rides,

but I’m too impatient to wait in the
lines.

And I don’t get lost in corn mazes.

And I don’t hold my breath when I pass
cemeteries anymore

because I know only the bodies are
there

and the ghosts are everywhere else.

It happens in October

when the breeze feels just like it
always did

but the way I felt then is never the
way I do now.

And I know it’s silly to cry, because

Things that happened then but don’t
anymore

aren’t things I’ve Lost.

They’re things I’ve had.

But the act of realizing

things are different

things are new

things will never be the same,

to me,

is losing.

And that always happens in October.