The clean air suffocates me with tormenting familiarity
like poison.
I couldn't stop myself, so
here I am

Dancing leaves remind me of their
death and nothing will be ok.
because ok is Hope and I don't know if Hope can work.

These senses
replace my hunger with emotion
curling around my slowly
beating heart.

Maybe it's the old feeling, fresh again
of impending warmth
with the new season.

The season of change; of happy
because good things often start

Perhaps the remaining
of winter apathy
leaves not without a bout of leftover lonely sadness of
seasons past.

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