I am, the autumn tree,
fading away,
and losing my leaves,
to fall to the perfect,
architecture of snow,

becoming nothing,
and everything,
from being one place,
to everywhere,

I want to be everywhere.

some say that its impossible,
and that I cannot change,
who I am,

but I wonder, why not?

And you ask me if I am listening,
but in my head,
I am listening,
to what my footsteps would sound like,
if I were to flee,
from all that was you and me,

the cold,
the autumn tree,
endless you,
infinite me,
none of this,
is tangible,

among the noise,
of this violent melody.