A feeling of fall

I wrote this last fall, and just found it on my computer. Just a short poem about how we can drift away in our thoughts and leave the moment.

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1. A feeling of fall

A white cup made out of porcelain. Heat emitted from burning black coffee. Brings a warmth to the palms of my hands. The living room, big, silent, cold. No noise, no noise at all. In my state of mind, the mind of subconsciousness, I only feel the heat in my hands. Makes my thoughts run off with me, far away to a place I know well.

This place is filled with memories. Built up by these. People enter, people exit. Hundreds of faces have passed by here. A fascinating and calm place. A place that is only known by the self to it's fullest. Every single day images from here braids into my otherwise completely conscious mind. It feels natural and even comfortable, reassuring. When these faces reappear on the inner side of my eye lids, I get a few crinkles from the outer corners of my eyes. My lips connected to the crinkles, responding with an innocent smile. Thoughts, smile, crinkles, every element linked to one and another. Nothing's being controlled, everything's just happening.

I wander. There's only one face by my side. One left hand. Wander along the sea side, step on stones. Breating in the fresh smell of fierce fall. No words said, only a feeling of joy's between us. Makes us giggle and connect. The wind bites my cheeks, messes up my hair. Hiding in my great gray scarf, as it warms my neck, my chin, my lips. Just wandering. Wondering how I got there and wondering what for. If it would be the same if a walked alone.

Headlights from a car reminds me of the moment. The mug's still lukewarm. Lost a short amount of presence. Though it feels like no loss. Comfort. Comfort and coffee and a cold breeze outside. The windowsill's tall and wide. Want my thoughts to run off with me again, far away to a place I know well.

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