• I remember thoughts of rotten fruit and leaves, when sorrow spoke in beautiful rhymes.

    Hesitating near the door where remnants of books lay dormant. The smell of dust filled our lungs as the cold slowly sunk beneath our skin. The walls melted away, leaving nothing but the city street.

    The leaves were burned with new color and drowned in rain. We walked around them, balancing between ourselves. You said, "they must think nothing of me," and I laughed, thinking it just wasn't that way. But the chill found its way to us again as the swings slowly screeched to a halt.

    We hid from them, but our disguises failed. And we ran from the delicate buildings and buried ourselves among the night before they swept me away so gracefully, so peacefully, into the rain.

    I smile now, but I realize it was too long ago. So I sit and wait beside the engraved door. I sit and wait for the rain to stop.