The summer goes away without his usual signs. Visible and invisible. A little 'color on my fair skin, smell the sea air. And I can not explain an absence.
The days of September are melancholic sighs that accompany me to winter in which, as always, I will find the warmth of an embrace in the twilight of a cold afternoon.
But the fall kills me how all things unclear. With its soft edges, its colors are imperfect and uncertain, his moods ambiguous. Autumn scares me. It leaves me apathetic and suspended, pending the cold wind of December begins to caress her face ...
And I'm still hoping that the move is short. And not having to dwell too long on my eyes dry leaves and humiliated by passers distracted, the trees bare, swollen and bruised on the sky ... jarring notes of a requiem to the past splendor.
October is coming, knocking on the door of my heart. I'll let him go, pretending not to notice his arrogance, as a love wrong. I will wait patient who rubbed my soul and the dye of ocher and brown. If you go away with its trail of black rain and mud, without turning. Leaving me alone to dry the tears that will be cold snow. Finally.
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