#Day 856: Forgetting November

You were warm and welcoming, an atmosphere of generic happiness and autumnal growing. You wore your heart on your sleeve and had the most beautiful smile I’d seen. It was what drove me to you. You were everything I wasn’t.
I didn’t want you. Wanting you seems very futile and child-like, like an eleven year old’s crush. I didn’t need you. Needing you was a very baseless notion, an effortless emotion. It was too easy for the conflicted arguments I had with myself every night.
I swept all the words I could conjure under the rug and decided on what I felt purely, that there wasn’t a word I knew of that could encompass the turmoil your voice stirred in me and the tranquil your eyes showered. It was almost as though I was standing at the edge of a cliff and I’d jump if you asked me to, I had been rendered senseless by the very sound of your voice.
And I spill and I ramble about everything I’ve felt about everything I’ve known, and you sit and watch me tumble over words and fumble through memories.
Because I sift through rubbish and land on the words I’ve been meaning to say to you but they taste of immaturity and desperation as I put them together and my tongue fails me and pushes down anything I wanted to breathe out as you, ever so slowly, tell me about this girl at the coffee shop who slipped you an extra doughnut with a smile that you could draw perfectly from memory, and how silky her hair was as it shifted in front of your eyes and I knew in the thirty seconds you took to stop blushing at her memory, that she had everything and was everything I could never be.
And then I saw all too clearly why they warned me to not fall for someone receptive, to not fall for someone who had a whole heart to give because they’d never know what heartbreak feels like, and now I do.
It feels like crunching the spine of a leaf in the fall, it feels like you’re the leaf.
And you just forgot all about autumnal October and went straight into wintery Christmas and now all I can see is you grinning at the thought of kissing her underneath a mistletoe.


4 thoughts on “#Day 856: Forgetting November

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