among the torn silks of phrase

mood: streetlamps light the leaves
music: vanilla, miss scarlett

winters begin in november, with sidewalks obscured like tree branches by their sudden yellowing. (this marks our passages through time as seasonal.) pencil skirts & dress-shirts, a whimsical library of greys. we jump into piles of leaves, rustle through the empty streets. a sense of nothing too trivial: when you ask me if it matters, the answer always yes.