The Sun Sets at 17:42 — a poem

Written October 2022, Zakopane, Poland

There’s something about the shift from summer to autumn that feels heavier than just a change in weather. It carries the weight of endings, of versions of ourselves we no longer recognize, of memories that linger like the last warmth before the cold settles in. This is about the bittersweetness of letting go—of people, of seasons, of who we once were.

I swallow the rawness of October as it hits me in the face when I step outside.

Summer decays in the pit of my stomach, and I want to throw up all the memories—let them drip from my mouth onto the ground, so I can kick them like dead leaves beneath my feet.

Maybe I’ll lay in a pile of them and mourn the person I created for you, the one I had to kill to welcome back the darkness.

The sun sets at 17:42.