My jeremiad

The quiet rustling of withered leaves beneath our feet
The crisp sound of dried leaves crushed under our weight;
It’s our favourite sound

The silent breeze in our hair,
Our thoughts carried in e wind,
I like our moments of tranquility, our comfortable pockets of silence

The warmth of our plams,
The scent at e nape of your neck,
you called me your pefect lil chin rest.
I miss our secret handshake, our sotto voce inside jokes, our secret codes...
They will never comprehend our meaningless lil gestures,
or understand the insignificant dates, numbers, places and words that mean so much to me
They will never know why i get teary-eyed for no particular reason...