Autumn Leaves and Heartbreak Scenes

Hi Lovelies,

Fall is officially upon us, and an old jazz standard/ poem sparked some autumnal feelings the other day…

Inspired by “Les Feuilles Mortes” (Autumn Leaves)  By Jacques Prevert


I remember driving. My hand was resting on yours, and you looked calm and at ease. Sometimes I felt bold and I reached an arm across the expanse of both of our seats, bridging the gap between us so that I could sink my hands in the hair at the nape of your neck. Sometimes I rubbed soothing, massaging circles into your neck and enjoyed the sound of you purring.

The falling leaves

drift by my window

the falling leaves

of red and gold…

I see your lips

the summer kisses

the sunburned hands

I used to hold

Then, you were mine. I felt it with all of my being. I knew it deep in my bones and there were absolutely no doubts about it for me, even down to my very soul. You were mine. But today, everything is different. Everything is changed and you aren’t mine anymore. At least, I don’t think you are. It’s been so long since you were mine that I’ve forgotten what that felt like or even how we made that a possibility. Because, now it seems completely impossible and I am languishing without that feeling. I am wilting without the power that having you somehow made me feel. Somehow, I was infused with some sort of rare gift or super power when I had your love. And now, all I’ve got is a shell. But I am supposed to be the same person. I am supposed to pull off the same kinds of miracles. But no one sees that I am no where near the same person that I was back then. Now, I am nothing more than the knock-off, counterfeit version of myself.

Since you went away

the days grow long

and soon I’ll hear

Old Winter’s song

But I miss you

most of all, my darling

when autumn leaves




The world was magical then. It was full of potential. And now all I see is an expanse of stagnant, stale, shallow breaths waiting for me, spread out across my future. I feel like I am branded by my failures, but there is nothing I can do to change them or make them better. And in the end, I feel as though it is all over. And I feel as though there is nothing that I want more in the world than that. Because honestly, remembering the times when you used to be mine are so painful when I am jolted back to reality and I realize that maybe you were never really here at all. Maybe I never really had you and it was all part of some grand, cruel, illusion that was meant to change me, twist me, turn me, break me, and then leave me for dead.

Right now, I am at the left for dead part. And I wish that I could muster up the strength and the will to fight through this and live. I wish I could muster up the magic to perform my own miracle. To be my very own super hero. But I just can’t seem to find the desire to live that long. I am welcoming the chance to fade. The chance to desiccate. To simply wink out of existence. I am welcoming that. Because maybe then, perhaps, I will have the silence that I crave. Instead of the memories and hopes and wishes that taunt me at every moment, every second, until I can’t even seem to breathe without thinking about you. And why should I think about you so much? Why should I care? I can’t even begin to find an acceptable reason. So I am fighting a losing battle. And I am welcoming the chance to lose. The chance to erase it all. And maybe start again.

Since you went away

the days grow long

and soon I’ll hear

Old Winter’s song

But I miss you, most of all,

My Darling,

When autumn leaves




And while I feel as though you have forgotten me and all of those bygone times already, maybe one day you will remember them. But maybe then they won’t cause you the pain that they have caused me. Maybe you won’t be plagued by the thought that I am not yours and never will be yours. May you only be warmed by the sun of those memories and blessed by the gentle outlook that they hopefully will provide in your life. Because, no one should feel the way that I feel. No one should be in love this way. This isn’t romance. It is a health hazard. A death sentence. It is a terminal kind of illness that is impossible to fight. And perhaps I am finished trying. Maybe, finally, I am done.

About Avery Rose

I'm a 30-something year old living in my native New York...I adore the city, writing, books, tea, music, long walks and rainbows :) Aaaand What happens to a dream deferred? In my opinion it gets sucked up dry and spat out as a gnarled petrified mass of what the heart used to I'm also coming out as a writer who wrestles with questions of identity, reality, race and even sexuality. I'm having fun finally writing my own story. Feel free to help :)


  1. JoHanna Massey

    This is beautifully written Avery Rose. Thank you for sharing this.

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