This place will never be
Old memories, nor long ago
I do not pine away for days done
Though I remember all the brightly
Lit faces, and sunshine shadowed acquaintances
And the strange dopamine in warm winters.
There is a sense that autumn persists, and
Because it does, this is not home
It can’t be, change is off cycle -
Lights glow in houses I have yet
To visit, full of friends I have yet
To know, I reach for my jacket
To slow down and prepare
For snow that never comes

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