There’s golden leaves strewn across the asphalt street,
a sure promise of what’s to come.
The wind brings change, brings uncertainty,
brings me to you.

I found myself close to you
every Friday,
white walls valiantly protecting us from the windchill.
We’d be sat on the carpet by the TV even though the couch was inches away
to get just a little closer.
It was always charmingly messy
when I’d come on Friday, like clockwork,
but it was our little slice of paradise
nonetheless.

I wonder where paradise is now sometimes
on late nights now often spent alone.
The itchy carpet,
the table our junk food sat scattered across, the couch
we only ever
used to hold our threadbare jackets,
and you.
I keep wondering despite knowing
we’ll both always have it.

Even if those things are laid to rest
unceremoniously in some landfill, nothing can
take it away.
Our slice of paradise will stay merrily in our minds,
immortal and unchanging.
On Friday, time and again, I feel warm and fuzzy.
It takes me a moment to remember why sometimes,
but I always do remember.

In that warmth, you will always be there.
In a moment frozen in time, we are nothing but
carefree, happy things.
Do you feel the same?
I’d like to rest with you.