Last time she saw you it was summer. Now Autumn settled in and the leaves all around farewell her with the goodbyes you did not care to say.
She goes back to the house, the new street tables reminding her time passes by. She can’t remember your smell, but the odor of the Oolong tea cup surprises her with the total recall of you. (Time didn’t pass her by enough…). How can something so uncanny as a memory assume such a concrete form?…
She used to wonder. A lot.
She leaves unsettled. The gold in the sunset trees whispers a nightly heaviness she’s not used to anymore. Is this emptiness?
Rocking in the coccoon chair yet again. She used to cry there for you. Now the eyes, as dried up as the crispy floor, just stare blankly to some vagueness no one else would see. This is it. The autumn that fell in her after your spring, with no summer break. Your leaves falling to the floor while your tree is still somehow rooting her insides. Her feet on the floor after you made her mind cloud walking. Nefelibata.
She’s not missing you.