Every autumn I listen to whispers of tree leaves. Every autumn they get more silent than a year before, but their stories tell about everyone they meet. This year I pass them on early mornings. Each morning they look at me, they know. A part of me has moved on, a part of me has found someone else. I look again deep inside my feelings, I start to sparkle. Now and then I even forget how I got this far. They never judge, everything I am today is the best part of me. They know that tomorrow it will be even better than today. Every autumn...no, this autumn they'll talk about me.
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