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plastic-wrapped textbooks and puddles

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Sep. 16th, 2009 | 02:15 pm

Wind turns the trees into bone.
Cold turns our breath into clouds.
My feet turn the corner back home.
Sun turns the evening to rose.
You turn me into somebody loved.

- The Weepies


 

Rainy day, one more back to school September.  Again?

Students rush the sidewalk, standing smoking in my way, new best outfits and flirting glances. Everyone looking at everyone else.

I slip by unnoticed, not part of them, but not part of us, either.

...

I have started to forget which season it is. Really – ever since I’ve been back, I find myself struggling to remember – is it spring or fall? Just for a second, and then I remember. But, it’s the strangest thing, and it sort of scares me.

...

I wish I could remember how to remember how.

I can’t go back now, here I am,

yep.

...

The only steps that matter are the ones you take all by yourself.

You and me, we walk on.

.

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