Most people would say that autumn is a beautiful time of year. And would they be right? The leaves are turning golden brown and yellow and hues of orange. They scatter on the streets, wind blown and they float down from above, like colourful butterflies everywhere. Softly, ever so gently, they descend on a world too busy to notice them. I think there was a time when I thought it was beautiful,…. surely. I think there was a time when I could feel the joy of running through the cackling leaves beneath my feet, when I could feel the soft caress of the wind against my cheeks and I yearned to feel the power of the changing seasons. Surely, there were such times? How else would I remember?
But the days grow darker now. I find myself watching as the colours fade and life forces wilt. And the smell of death and decay permeates the skin of every being. Time destroys everything. The leaves, the trees, the beauty that once was. The browning of a golden age, the death of a season. People, the way they too eventually break down and die.
It has grown so dark and so cold. Reaching for warmth, my fingers are forever frozen, as if the lifeblood within me fails to reach my extremities from a heart beat too weak to push beyond what it needs to do. Just to keep on living….Just to keep on living, it requires so much effort. Too much effort.
I’m nothing now, but a shell. I’m nothing now, but an empty being, all out of stuffing.