Like age, it’s beginning to show –
The seasons start to change.
It’s quick yet it’s slow.
Three months of sunlight,
So the leaves start to sunburn,
Dancing with the wind in the night.
Acoustic strings sound like gold,
The rusty colors start to taste like bliss,
And the morning air is clear and cold.
I’ve forgotten the cherry days of summer.
Afternoons start to lose their emerald saturation;
Remembering facts and feelings is such a bummer.
Drowning in late nights and notebook paper,
I start to realize all the surface-level love
And why I used to wish to earn everyone’s favor.
Just on the edge, waiting for the fall to hit.
—By Sarah Soltis