Month of apples and pumpkins, of shaking out the winter blankets and knitting new warm woolen socks for the upcoming months. The time of harvest feasts and crunchy walks, maple syrup and dark lipstick. Boots and scarves dug up from the back of the closet, leather driving gloves and old fishermen’s sweaters. Cinnamon doughnuts and bonfires, witchy novels and ghost stories. I wait all year for October.
“maybe if i drink another coffee, i will feel better”
“maybe if i buy myself a new sweater, i will feel better”
“maybe if i get so drunk i can’t see, i will feel better”
“maybe if i sleep for fourteen hours, i will feel better”
I eat romantic shit up. If I were asked to just sit on a roof and look at the stars id probably internally combust