5:03 with a play count of 34 times in itunes

leaving my bed, i move quickly, imagining only twelve seconds to find a heat source before petrification occurs. my apartment is so cold in the mornings.

who would find me frozen in place?

old ghosts thrive on this time of year. i see them in my neighborhoods. i hear their silken whispers curling from my radio pores. but i'm not going on dates with them anymore. i am on my own, this body, form, blazing new trails and scorching the present with alacrity, even amidst the bleak.

yesterday i made a joke about my preoccupation with death and a love of life, even if i don't quite know what to do with it all the time, life. i love life.

i wish i could tell you what i'm working on. 

it's a seasonal thing, understand? the leaves are off the trees. even, here.