leaves falling from clouds

"Autumn leaves falling down like pieces into place
And I can picture it after all these days"
--All Too Well, Taylor Swift

https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3xTqGU15P8ifmRJ9qVOfV4?si=v9cIEmeySg2PaXPLR0Ltyg

i. in the clouds
ii. dreamland
iii. leaves once vibrant
iv. nyc apartment
v. mad as a hatter
vi. casket coated with lace
vii. purple door

i. in the clouds

an old bench in the park
eyes drifting over leaves
flailing, fluttering to the ground.
a journal of empty pages,
autumn days of wasted potential,
watching the dog walkers
instead of raking leaves.

i spend so long in the clouds,
dreaming and wishing for more.
the leaves in the park lose their color,
seasons change in the blink of an eye
and i only catch some of it
when I peek through the fluffy vapor.

falling from my cloud, grasping at leaves
wind whooshing through my hair
and landing in a pile of leaves
alone in the park at night
the only glow, a flickering streetlight.
leaves are even better
when my fingers brush over them,
instead of gazing at them
up on my cloud in the sky.

ii. dreamland

for every leaf falling i made a wish.
for you to see what lies
underneath the cracks on my skin
beneath the body glitter
and cold candy shell.

will you peer underneath?
or will you accept
my quiet melody
and leave me to
cover myself once more
with cloud vapor
and drift
up
up
high
into the clouds
and settle myself once more
in my solitary dreamland.

iii. leaves once vibrant

an ombre effect of red and brown
leaves once vibrant, now dead
lying in a puddle, sopping wet.

eccentric notes along the walls
illuminate the liquid glass on my cheeks.
silent sixteenth notes of sadness
leak from my pores,
and drench the whole thing in blue.

what once was perfect, polished silver
like the strings we touch
is now dull and gray.
the seemingly old memories
of sonic laughter
and sense of belonging
are now coated with dust,
a desire to run
far,
oh so far.

i wish i asked her
to sign my yearbook
because now she—it
is all gone, erased.
like the notes that were once
scribbled on our shared music.

months have passed
and many more will, but i’ll be
chasing after a mirage, as
each leaf falls from the tree, and me
yearning for my stand partner back.

iv. nyc apartment

i’ve created such a beautiful life for myself there.
brown floors, an exposed brick wall
soft music from a speaker,
mom and dad on the phone.

leaves falling in central park
eating pizza on the fire escape
strangers in my phone
who care about my words
and not my face.

i’ve created such a beautiful life for myself there.
what a shame that it’s
all in my head.

v. mad as a hatter

meet me at the asylum
deep in the woods
where no one can see,
surrounded by bare trees
that long ago lost their leaves.

the door is open, but i’m stuck
shackled to my room
in chains of my own making.

regret’s like a waterfall
washing over me.
i could have just
kept pretending the sky is pink
and never wandered
into the asylum
i can’t escape from.

mad as a hatter,
i sit there and wait, dreaming
for something to occur.
and when a twig snaps
i can feel my heart race,
even though it’s just a fox.

how long will it take,
how many days before
the metal digging into my skin
will wither and die,
freeing me from this hope.

vi. casket coated with lace

if silence could write a letter,
i’d have filing cabinets full,
arranged by month and day.

i wish i could say it’s better
to speak, but really i’d
bury myself alive
in a casket coated with lace.
i’d like to say i’m Todd Anderson,
but really, only before the character development.

i wish i could speak my mind.
that’s all it ever is, a wish
blowing out birthday candles
mumbling under my breath at 11:11
that all the things i
dream about saying
in the shower and in bed before sleep
would flow like music from my lips.
if my name was Lara Jean,
my letters mysteriously sent
maybe i would flourish.
but until then i’ll be
digging my grave
dreaming that someone will
take my shovel out of my fingers
and throw it into the river.

vii. purple door

all of my happiest memories
are in my head.
dreams i have at night,
dreams i create in daylight,
everything i can see and taste
but never touch,
just barely out of reach.

if only i could sleep forever,
it feels more like home
than this suburban town.
closing my eyes at night,
returning to my apartment
and that fictional boy
i created when i was 12
who i’ll never really meet,
except in my dreams.

i’ve never felt like i belonged anywhere.
it’s cruel, really.
how figments of my imagination
make me feel like i do,
until i come back to reality.
i never grew out of
that childlike imagination,
it’s still within me
trapping me in the clouds.

so, i’ll just keep hoping.
for dreams like
the one two nights ago,
frolicking through the
streets of Paris.
because in those dreams,
is the most alive i’ve ever felt.
not here, certainly not there
but up where no one can go,
not even me.
no matter how badly
i wish i could go
live in dreamland,
with my imaginary friends
i hold dear to this day,
and cozy apartment
with its purple door,
and balcony made for
dancing in the rain.