As autumn leaves fall silently in the open air, the sky darkens to a deep metal gray as the wind and rain move in on their own rowdy, wet, sinister terms. Just yesterday I had this thought about what my life would have been like if I had noticed I was beautiful back when I was but youth, being so shakily timid in her wide wandering mind and her tight sparkling body, barely recognizes itself in the mirror let alone in its own fragile hands. I feel very strongly that I must get away, from what I just couldn’t tell you. My life, I think. Not my blood, mind you, I’m not talking about cutting off my own circulation or any of that shit. The story goes like this: I want to be alive and that seems to be the trouble with me. I seem to want to experience more and this makes me a rattle-y inconvenience to the rest of the world which would prefer if I just quiet down and quit being so fickle and thoughtful and nuanced. Perhaps it’s that I’ve just had too much coffee and chocolate for breakfast or perhaps it’s the way the splashing sound of heaving cold rain pelts the fiery red maple leaves just outside of my open window but something in the cells of my being is buzzing with a kind of sensation somewhere between panicked agitation and heart-pounding lust. I’ve had my period for the past few days and so we’ve not had sex because I am weird about that but now I’m horny af and all I can think about is kneeling in a darkened bedroom, taking his gorgeous cock into my mouth and worshipping like a woman desperate with a thirsty kind of sweet admiration. I know what you’re thinking. The window shouldn’t be open because the rain water is now pooling on the hardwood floor and my daydreaming ignorance will cause it to warp, but I meant to tell you that also I’m smoking and trying to blow most of it outside for what it’s worth which is really very little.