Fall

Falling.
Much more in love than I'd like to.
And that's odd, really. Because I'd like not to.
We're driving. And I've been drinking. And that's not to say I'm driving after drinking. I'm listening, as a passenger. After drinking. And we're listening to music, and there is an amazing guitar rift and I find myself ghosting it, air guitaring it. And while doing so, I find myself in love.
The feeling isn't original, very regular, hardly new. It's fall and I always fall in love in fall. And that's weird, because it really should be happening in spring. But the coolness of it all just gets to me, the chill of the night, the loveliness of everything, the oranges and the violets in the dusk sky.
The beat beats faster and faster on the radio and there is bass and it sucks me in, my conscience, and there is something oddly mesmerizing to it, familiar, sympathetic and deep, drifting, gliding, as the golden leaves of the trees in fall fall, hitting the ground and crunching beneath the world.
My heart falls as I listen, floating to the ground. I'm grounded, I think, and realize that I'm thinking of you.
We listen to the flux of the radio.
And I'm dancing with my shadows.
And I think of your face.
And then my life.
And you in it.
I should have kissed you. But I forgot.
And I'm sorry.