falling leaves and dirty forks.

sign of the times

sign of the stick season times

there were no clean forks left in the drawer

the bananas outlived the apples once picked with care

and the house plants don’t know the time change is going to happen 

 

the glow of the fire place and the crackling of the wood

hand delivered with love from my grandfather 

 

while a comforting feeling a fire place is,

 a lonely feeling too 

waking up in a cold house in a warm duvet

only to have to get up and make a fire myself

feminism be damned, i want someone to build me a fire

 

the morning sun bouncing off what is left of the leaves

how lonely and open the sky is starting to look 

when i take a deep enough breath, it feels as how i imagine a brisk wind taking what’s left of the leaves feels like

the only time i’m in control 

 

stick season comes every year, 

but i often wonder how the first person who experienced the leaves falling must’ve felt 

talk about a true seasonal depression 

i would have thought the world is ending 

 

i can’t think of a word strong enough to match the pit in my stomach

i try to prepare myself every single year for the switch in emotion that comes with this time of year

silly girl

i am never prepared 

 

i know the sun will come around again, 

that there will be things and plans to look forward to once the ground thaws

it’s hard in the moment to remember that sometimes 

but until then

there are distractions 

movies to watch, pinterest boards to create, muscles to grow, cardio to build, breathing exercises to learn, and forks to wash.

thank you if you've made it this far, here are some of my thoughts from the sea.