Holding On

Trees shed their leaves much like our hands have fallen

To our sides

With no intention of holding on.

We both continue,

Our conversation sliced by colder knives,

It turns stale in this autumn air

And forms a softer crust

Of leaves

Beneath our feet

And in the corners of our eyes

The ones we use to quickly look away

To blink away

What we wanted to have seen —

More than we had been

And less of what would be

The night gathers cold

And I no longer hold on.

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