leaves turn to ash and fall right through my hair.
they collect at my feet and rebuild themselves into works of art.
they continue to fall apart, time and time again,
each time remaking themselves into better, more beautiful things, only to be broken down into bits and pieces, particles and finally atoms that explode with all the light of a billion stars.
every time this happens, the world stops.
there is no turning, there is no gravity, there is no breeze.
everything floats in their designated space.
every time this happens, i lose you for a little bit.
you take your place up there with the rest of the drift, while i cling onto the things that choose to stay like i do.
once in awhile, though, i take your hand and rise up with you;
but more often than not, its something you have to do on your own.
and so i stay, stagnant, silent, keeping watch,
waiting to catch you when you decide its time to fall back into my atmosphere,
to fall back into me.