It was unseasonably warm,
those days in October when
I laid in your arms and
each of us pretended so hard
that we never lived before eachother,
that the world's
sole existence was in our eyes.
It was crazy, I thought, that
you and I could ever be
"you and me".
And I felt crazy, gripped
by some gentle madness that
didn't matter really,
because, after all,
you were mine; for a while,
so you claimed to be.

And I was quite happy
to believe you.
When you said I was the one,
I believed you.
When you said you cared for me
to such a depth,
I believed you.
When you said I was so unlike
any other, and you
considered yourself lucky,
that you were crazy,
too, and couldn't believe..

I believed you.

But when the first hints of frost
lit upon the air and showed themselves as rain,
when you said you didn't deserve
a second chance..

I didn't believe you.

And so, my fingers entwined in yours,
I desperately tried
to prolong the stolen summerdays,
blissful in my studious ignorance
of all else in the world save
the break with reality at
every brush of your lips,
the insanity brought by
the touch of your hand..

Not believing you the one time,
the only time
that I really should have,
the only time
that actually mattered.

The shiver struck my spine of
the sudden departure of lazy warmth
and our hazy subreality all too soon.
When you again said you were sorry,
that you wished things weren't like this,
that you didn't have to hurt me,
that you never meant to break my heart..

I believed you.

I believed you all too late.

But I wonder, now, that the snow has
blanketed everything and the wind's
all-too-real icy fingers
clutch some point beneath my chest;
when you glance at me,
then look away, each of us pretending so hard
that we never noticed eachother,
can you see the pain in my eyes?
I know I'm not as good an actress as I play at,
though I was good enough to fool myself.
Though you would, of course, deny it,
you're uncertain how to act around me now..
So it's back to how it was before,
completely the same as how it was before..
Except for the small fact that everything
is completely
and totally
different.

I never really liked October,
anyway.