it's a quiet place I hope that's okay

October is near and I am still in November

I spent weeks
maybe years or was it centuries
trying to catch up,

there was no sense of distance
no way to see futures
no reason to plan at all,

but here I find myself
it feels too far ahead some days
outpacing things I love

I think about romantic things
night skies and melodies
the whispers that don't sleep,

these habits aren't new at least not to me
but my days are burning slow
even innocently

and there's no edge that's cutting
no picking of wounds
no ruminating of demon or ghouls,

I'm here with nothing to prove
my stories and scars and
once suffocated arts
have outlived even my gods
and the sins from afar.