September hazel haunts my dreams. I toss and I cry, I reach for those September eyes.
Gold and green, mossy trees, fallen leaves…September skies desperately mimick your September eyes.
I can’t forget the lakes that reflect the ease of the mountains like I cannot forget your lakes that reflect the rage of my storms. I never knew I needed your great lakes so much more.
Muddy flecks of gold sifted through the silt stare back at me when I sleep trying not to give in to guilt.
September is growing nearer and I’m afraid to wake from this nightmare…what if September ends and those eyes have grown cold? What if September ends and passes and becomes another month that left me old…?
Your September eyes haunt my dreams…don’t wake me up when winter comes. I’d rather take the nightmare than face the cold that winter brings.