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  • christian baez

central park

He stops. Fall. Warm colors, cool winds. He stands in front of it, in the midst of it, surrounded by it. He's in company but alone in his head. He hears the crunch of dry leaves but is distracted by the thoughts that rush inside his mind. He feels elated over the thought of being here, having sealed deep wounds with such grace and tenderness in order to get here. A beat, a breath, a memory from the past. He turns around and greets fall with a misread smile, and creates a crunching sound as he walks on.

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