You are:
nostalgic
lacking in willpower
obsessive
protective
not realistic
Watching the leaves venture to where their ancestors disappeared, when you first saw them through a window on a very dark, very rainy evening, the night you decided things should change so you could change the other things. When you tried to befriend a dog that didn’t care about your friendly beckoning, but only whether you held a leash in your hand (you did not—thank goodness).
Everything has become fragmented. Sentences are chopped. Thoughts float from one to the next with no regard for the train leaving the station and transforming into a raft, remember that sailing trip? You were incredulous but also impressed and convinced that you were walking down a path that would eventually loop back around to the start—imagine the surprise when you awoke in another city with a dumb smile on your face and an overwhelming sense of serenity.
‘Tis the season, as they say, when the air turns colder and the days lose their glow. Sunny and cold, windy and gray. It’s easy to hibernate. Keep your floors clean, mind the salt stuck to your boots. We’ll emerge unscathed, eventually, but in the meantime there’s always that new reading light behind your favorite chair beckoning you in for consecutive nights of escapism. Someone else managed put pen to paper—this is the least you can do.