the leaves are fickle (just like me)
i wait for you in my words, as if one day i'll discover you in a sentence—see also, all those commas i missed in grade school—and when you finally come its with no object. no. you bring only the objection. i feel so hollow. i feel so hollow. at least i remember what feeling is at all: to you, feeling is just something you remember doing once; to you, this numbness is just temporary. when i was numb it was permanent, and you were my recovery. you're lost, i half-assedly attempt to recover me, as if one day i'll discover me in a sentene—see also, where you should be.