The whole world spins scared. It will haunt and charm you, leave you scraping at the moss that grew beneath your feet when you stopped paying attention. White-knuckling the wheel made me feel like a child, learning things I should have already, and I felt the earth shift beneath me for a second while we were still tethered, attached. Everything straining a little until it broke and fell away.

Please call October off, I’ve been shedding pounds, shaking in my sleep. And you’re foggy like London, just without all the class. Maybe closer to the humidity of August or the condensation trapped on the windows of my car—the night breathing out something slick and silver like expired ghosts.

Someone, just give me a red front door and a heartbeat.