alexi // south carolina

"Tonight, the crickets are playing their Titanic deck waltz, this is the sinking song of summer. The last masterpiece. The trees are starting to fold in on themselves and their leaves glow red like flares, signaling the end. We mistake them for fireworks. Long ago, we were taught by our mothers to pile on the layers. Socks over sweaters over hats. “Do not become as bare as the landscape, darling.” Donning masks, we try to disguise the monsters that lurk beneath. The pale skin and rigid bones. We surely must be more than the skeletons for sale at the market. The skies are even cloudless and yet we do not dare count the stars. Too many. Too vast. Too honest. Instead we fill our coffee cups in a counter act. Our cream the Milky Way and the sugar our shooting stars. We whisper wishes into the mug when finished. “Please, let Spring come again” you pray. Child, do not fear. Fall has made even the bravest men feel this way, even the tallest trees have their season. Do not curse Mother nature, even She has her reasons."

— b.e.fitzgerald (via befitzgeraldwriting)

(via queerpaint)