The introspective and the self-aware. The ones who know change and write it, who write change and know it. But we are writing nothing, or at least I am. Because these words catch in our throats, caught like leaves falling matted to the streets beneath skies threatening rain (The clouds are the most beautiful on gray and stormy days where we linger, taking deep breaths and settling ourselves in the bluish-hue of day).
We walked over those leaves, becoming aware; we are always aware, holding hands in the streets as cars pass by.