These days,

It’s like I’m drifting lost through the quiet night.

Maybe I’m an autumn leaf; one of hundreds

That fall and float and fly and sigh together

Like dry, fiery rain.

And so delicate; scraped away to amber dust.

I’ll shrivel like that too.

With just one look; just one word

You can crush me so well underfoot

No one would know, no one would notice.

Such frailty in my paper-thin self.

So easy to destroy.

Floating by,

I try not to get under your feet.