The leaves on my block are yellow. They look good when I leave for work in the morning, sun low on the horizon, casting beautiful shadows. They look great in the afternoon, sun shining through them. They look good at night time, street lights giving off just enough light to let me see the difference, to see time moving, to see this particular moment that I am living in in which summer is now done and winter around the corner, and things changing, always changing. It's fucking beautiful.
All the more so because of its hyper-transitory nature, this season. One big rainstorm and most of these leaves will be gone, on the ground, in gutters. Even without a big storm, they will soon enough be gone. And so I take in these sights while I can.
A couple nights ago, I spent the night in a guy's bed in Bushwick, this crush who I had pursued this summer only to have it fizzle out. Aaliyah sings, "If at first you don't succeed, dust yourself off and try again." We smoked weed and drank booze underneath his covers while watching Frozen. It was incredibly cute. He's incredibly cute. Everything's incredibly cute.
I cleaned my apartment this morning and I have my bedroom window open to let out some of the thick heat of my radiator. Cool breezes every so often punctuate the heat. This is fall.
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