but we both know by autumn you're like the colour of leaves.

It's all relative.

and we're saying things like we're clever but we're children in this lifetime; growing up is paying taxes and putting on ironed clothes and slinky ties. and then we cast our blankets into the wind like a cape billowing from flight, we become strong for some reason, with a rare disposition to be able. Because we're invincible in daylight. But when they're dead. and you're beautiful but you're nondescript. with your appetence for answers in a world that offers none. when time's only saving grace is that of hindsight, but the present man is granted none of its mercy, we await perspective like a barren womb, praying for happiness, love, peace and joy. and believe that somehow humanity is not yet bereft of them.

.