Falling

There’s something about the autumn air and every time it nears. As though it aches to remind me that I’m nearing the winter of my life. And I’m just twenty-four. The musty scent of leaves turning, the chill in the breeze; it’s barely perceptible, and yet I feel it with all the weight of water pressing down the chest of a drowning man. And I don’t know, never have, whether it’s life or it’s death: this thing that fills me so completely and yet leaves me so wholly empty; so fiercely yearning for something more.