Fall has always been my favorite season. The time when everything bursts with its last beauty, as if nature had been saving up all year for the grand finale.

It was a terrible decision, and I confess I'd make it again.

I shake my head, watching snow tumble and swirl from an all-white sky. The world seems so clean if you only look up

Her mind is a bird that's trapped inside her skull, flapping and thrashing, never breaking free.

The seeds are tiny, unborn things, and I resent them. They'll be planted and they'll grow into exactly what they're meant to be.

I stare at her collarbone that's framed with lace, the hollow of her throat, her shoulders that rise with each rise with the weight of her next breath. We're fragile things. Our bones show through our skin. What would any god want with us?

Tell freedom I said hello.