Autumn is at the corner.

Hello. How are you? 
Long time no see, no. No time no talking. 
Are there still some sparkles attached at the corner of your eyes when you talk about the star? 

Sometimes I come and go, and sometimes I forget. 
Nowadays, the light is getting shorter and shorter as the shadows grow wide and tall. 
It's the end of the summer. 
I'm glad, you know. I don't like summer that much. I don't like living with my windows open. I want to live inside my cosy house, with not that much of a light, and music all around. 
Gosh, I'm becoming old. Maybe. I've always felt like that. 
I grew up in front of a fireplace, you know. In the countryside. 

Autumn, in France, it's pretty. 
The street smells like rain. Like earth heavy with water and grey clouds. Even in the middle of the City. Soon we'll have our coats and our scarves and our vests and coffee shop will be full. 
It will smell like bread. And pastries. 
It will become way more quiet.  

The world is slowly getting asleep, 
Darker everyday, with each new night as a long exhale of the moon. 
It will be a kingdom of cold, an kingdom of secrets. 
We'll start to go wandering in the streets again. I have this friend, we go drink sometimes, and then walk into the streets to take pictures of everything. 
Singing pirates songs like when we were teens. Drunk as hell under the lamplights. 

There is this pub, you know, I'll bring you there. 
This is my friend's pub. We don't pay our drinks there, even if we try. And he gives us way too much beer and sometimes we forget to go home and crash on the couch. 
How old are we? Sometimes I forget. Younger than you, but past the thirties. 
Eternal teenagers. 
The youngsters thinks that we live like rockstars when our elders… Well.. they know better. Actually, we are all children. 

Summer is fading, and now it's time to work again. 
Time is always passing fast. Always running, and running. 
Running in winter, running under the full moon, and the eyes of the sky. With the ghosts of the city whisperings secrets inside the old stones. 
This city is so old, so, so old, you know. 
Stones on the top of stones… 

How are you? 
Are you still writing? Are you thinking of the months to come? 
What is the reason of this pearl hidden inside your mouth? Did it sing again? 
Can I listen to this song? 

This song of the Autumn. 
And new days to come, 
Under the clouds.