Fall (Autumn)

This is not a love poem

This is not a sad poem
It’s a poem

About how every time 

at this point of year

My heart’s somehow convinced 

To fall in love 

With a stranger 

That my eyes have barely met with

Twice

Yet my heart lurches 

At the pacing of their

Footsteps 

The resonation 

Of their giggle

Strumming 

The wires 

Connected to my brain

Hammering 

A voice in me
It’s that season of the year

Where I wear flannels

Ironic of me to justify the season

Since I’m covered in flannels

All the time
It’s the time of year

Where my heart’s 

Convinced of falling in

Love 

And it’s certain

Of the fact that 

This time things are going to be 

A little different 
Little does my foolish 

Heart know 

Fall does not justify falling in love

Leaves sure will rejuvenate

But my heart

I’m quite not sure.  
He’s too nice

But the pumpkin spice latte

Doesn’t make it up for it

I have always been an americano person

How can someone be so nice?
But he’s hope

In form of everything I ever wanted

Every shred of pieces that I 

Looked up in people 

He’s all of them at once 

Something I have never gotten used to

Perhaps never will

Because what is the identification of love

When you are no longer obsessed with the feeling to possess it?

What is complete love?

Is it the spring after the winter?

Or is it the fall?

Something 

My body won’t ever understand

Because hope is just undiscovered disappointment.