Specter of October

Its a gray sky day, the orange leaves accent the abysmal with their fire, but as the light fades it's easy to feel the gloom. 

It's easy to imagine the warmth of another person, pressing their fingers into the too tightly held flesh of my shoulders, it's easy to imagine my own fingers interlaced in her hair, as familiar as the warmth rising from the cup of coffee I sip, the smell of some long lost home. 

It's easy to think of the past, with regret, with adoration, with longing for the laughter, that heartfelt jubilance that comes with knowing someone well enough to enjoy their laughter, their knowing eyes smiling back. 

It's easy to recognize the changes, the distances, the unshared experiences like a mountain path winding back and forth making that which is permitted (welcomed even) too formidable to grovel-through. 

It's easy to know what is missing, easy to feel the sway, the drifting nervousness that accompanies all ventures when one is as anchor-less as I. 

and it's easy to smirk at other people's attempts to cut through the cloud that binds me, that swirls and drapes, and shadows all light, masks me with indecision, marks me inconsiderate, and fragments my strengths as the anxiety of distance permeates each capillary, bloodied me other. 

I guess all I am saying is, I didn't need to dress myself up to be a ghost this halloween.