When autumn steepens I think of you, four years ago. We went wandering through parks, not knowing what to do with one another. I climbed into the ground and you took photographs of trees. Weeks later the snow fell, hard. We went to an amateur high school play together. We sipped on tea. Swooning.

Right now it's this smell that reminds me of you. My old room, cold and full of antique books. Hope.