Someone once told me I reminded him of autumn. If people were seasons, I’d be falling leaves and the smell of wet wood. He said even my perfume reminded him of the earth. I suppose in a way he was right. Autumn always reminded me of sadness - the trees crying gold, the wind sweeping them off the ground like pretty little yellow butterflies. No matter how beautiful it looked, everything was sleeping, almost dead, or maybe dreaming. Sometimes I feel like I’m withering away, other times I feel like I’m drifting somewhere I could be alive again. I don’t know why I’m so drawn to the idea of someone saving me. Maybe one day I’ll find someone who would call me spring, instead.
Autumn // Genefe Navilon