The last breath of autumn slid across my skin.
Winter soon after died inside my chest soon after
I transformed into a living grave.
In me was sadness so deep every time I exhale
I was haunted by the memories of happiness.
Joy fled from my solemn body
leaving behind planes of pure mourning.
It is in moments where grief at its highest point
that any small act of kindness makes me cry.
Even a simple ‘Have a nice day’ from the flower-girl,
who has the same name as Mothers,
when she tells me goodbye.