for the drying leaves

in honour of winter

October this year is kinder. In some ways. I remember last October as a thick sip of humidity and confusion. I remember celebrating my brother’s birthday in an awkward sort of way. I remember the soil not feeling familiar, the heat made me ill. Cold winds arrived early this year. I sit atop wooden tables and feel the breeze in my hair. I enjoy it, even. I like the way school hallways slip into exam season. Students walking faster, eyes locked onto their notes. Groups intertwining to study efficiently. Its all a little refreshing, actually. I feel that inevitable sense of doom less now. I don’t think everything will end on a random Wednesday, I don’t think my life as a separate being. After a long time; I feel whole. Me, my thoughts, my life.

There is also this thin sort of layer in the air. Only I seem to breath it. Maybe its smog arriving early, maybe its something else. I can’t tell. I flinch at a very certain squeaky laughter, the sky feels a bit closer. This air makes me unwell. It makes me highly productive but very shy. I spot new faces in the hallways and can’t help but picture old ones. I’m always looking for something in something else. Craving the old, the familiar. They say dhoond ne parr to bhagwan bhi mill jata hai. Maybe I’m not looking hard enough, not using the right lingo. People are not Gods, though. The human nature is to be different. To grow up in the same house yet side with different football teams. To study in the same classroom with paint peeling yet end up across the worlds for university. I’ve realised my soft spot for dimples and awkward smiles. My hair is brittle and in desperate need of a trim. I hate math. I love history. I’ve grown fond of Saturday classes. Or class. The day is my favourite since I meet all my friends, even ones I usually don’t see. The campus is mostly empty except the A level kids. The canteen never overcrowded and always comfortable.

I listen to the same two playlists. Usually in the car. My Spotify wrapped will be unsatisfying, I’m sure. My best friend has gotten me onto new artists, I enjoy closing my eyes to lyrics I can’t recognise. I enjoy humming them later in the day, unaware. My writing has declined, I read less, write even lesser. My teammate in literary competitions stares at my scribbled handwriting in a silent sort of agony. Not sure how to inform me that this won’t get us anywhere. I read my old work to remind myself it was me. That maybe its still there, somewhere inside. Maybe if I dig enough, claw it out or something. I called myself a writer for two months and now I can’t again. I hate losing my ability to do something well. I use to be a good student. I use to be a good daughter. I use to be good at drawing. I use to be good at gaming. I use to be good at talking. I use to be good. Now I just feel adequate. Enough conversation to keep me around, not enough to text first. Enough skill to have responsibility, not enough to be complimented. Enough for a glance, never a look. Do you get it? I feel perfectly on the edge. Just enough. A passing grade. I’m there, but never remembered.

I know exactly what is arriving with foggy skies and quicker sunsets. Its prickling, persistent and cold sadness. I’m going to feel everything a bit deeper, its gonna make my skin crawl. My heartbeat will race a little more around him. I’ll notice my mothers avoiding gaze more. Feel more distant from my friends. I know it. I feel it coming. Winters are soft, dull even. But everything in it is sharp and haunting. Full of envy and the desperate kind of love. I always feel guilty. Always remembering. Nights stretch long and so do my thoughts. Thinking has never ended well for me. I hope November is kind too. I hope my lungs get use to this air. I hope I don’t succumb to polite words and stupid smiles. I hope my winter fits look cute. I hope I write more. I hope I call my best friend more. I hope to go to more hang outs. I hope to not feel invisible at times. I hope to laugh till my stomach hurts. I hope for more conversations in big, empty parks. I hope for more card games. I hope for a good time. I hope for time for all of this. I hope.

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can u guys tell i wrote half of this in October and half like rn because I can (u can pin point when the seasonal depression hit…). anyways ofc my post after like 4 months is yet again SADNESS. dont we love me.

Thank you for reading!