FUCK THE LEAVES
The leaves are falling, and that's really great, but fuck the leaves, no one really gives a shit about them.
I'm looking out the hospital windows, and trying to write about the leaves because that's what you're supposed to do in fall, but really, there are more important things in life to think about. Like prostate cancer, for example, that will creep up on you faster than the seasons switch off and steal people you love from your grip before you even get a chance to crunch the leaves under your scuffed Adidas'. And thanks to that sentence, I will forever associate the fiery leaves of autumn with prostate cancer.
The pretty picture I see outside sickens me. You know, I used to like the mud-caked, grass-stained blue of jeans, or the blue branching out from your wrist in the veins underneath your skin. Blue used to be a cool colour. But now I look into his eyes, and blue means dying. So when I look past the prostate cancer leaves, all I see is the vast, deathly sky of October.
These associations are stupid. I know they are. I'm not superstitious and I think that the symbolism we talk about in English class is total bullshit and I don't read horoscopes or even listen to the meteorologist on the morning news when she predicts rain.
But when your cold, shivering hands feel warm because you're holding onto the hand of a dying man, sometimes it's easier just to say, fuck the leaves.
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Submission Name: FUCK THE LEAVES
