Clean Slate

Autumnal blues, they call it. Amidst the woes of September they despair over their past glorious sunlit triumphs dipping their summer memories in warm sandy beaches and inebriated smiles. Salty hair and cicada song echoing in every step of early morning shuffle.
It’s officially prewinter season and working class heroes are back on their appointed positions. The apparatus is back in well-geared cohesion and NYFW updates painstakingly instafeed all social networks. Where am I? I keep all my imaginary friends aligned to keep me company right before I enter the classroom and I secretly dream of pure white snow covering the foliage across my street, the silent hum of frosty white flakes turning me into a Finnish girl that walks along the watermill of Liesijoki river. That’s when my name becomes Suvi. I do this weird geometrical eyeliner trick on my eyes and I only wear minimalism.
I assertively keep my Givenchy bag under my armpit and Joyce Carol Oates “In a Region of Ice” awaits me at my nightstand table. Summer, I want thee not.
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