That it started with a chill in the air
wasn't quite as meaningless
as your chilly sigh when our arms entwined with our bodies,
I can safely say it was as bad as the best
and greater than the worst of life's memories.
The summer wind wasn't our song;
it was a movement.
Moments strung together by seemingly perfect
next moves
and times stitched and spliced like a warm quilt.
All of the songs in the jukeboxes of our hearts
played on cue
as we danced like there was no other life
but the now.
And then it came,
with Katy Perry hair
and the boozy clouds of fallen leaves
and the feelings
of what's about to be lost and somehow,
never recovered.
The summer wind wasn't our song;
it was the soundtrack
to the beginning of the end.
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