not said condescendingly
but knowingly
and damned if it isn't true
and always has been
when the end of october draws near and i retreat into my shell,
battling the season and my moods
and i don't understand anyone
and all i have is this growing lump in my throat, a brick on my heart
maybe this year you'll send me major chords and pictures of cougar prints in the snow
and i can think back to last night and not endlessly repeat to myself -
what would you like to talk about then?
since everything i say doesn't make sense...
so was it the caffeine that kept us up?
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