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“October creeps into the room through faint grey light that stopped dancing on the windowsill since July left. Being haunted by silence makes the air grow weary and faintly colder. I hear the noise of people walking in solitude, thinking to themselves about others— sitting alone in between their steps. Company of ghosts on lonely eves, threading through the rustling of leaves. I can write down what haunts me, yet I cannot read the ones who do. October.” — Laura Chouette
October creeps into the room
through faint grey light
that stopped dancing on the windowsill
since July left.
Being haunted by silence
makes the air grow weary
and faintly colder.
I hear the noise of people
walking in solitude,
thinking to themselves about others—
sitting alone in between their steps.
Company of ghosts on lonely eves,
threading through the rustling of leaves.
I can write down what haunts me,
yet I cannot read the ones who do.
October.