You want life to change. You don't know how. You don't know what you want. All you know is that things move faster than you can keep up with. Things are harder than you can keep up with. But everyone else seems to do it fine. No one around you understands how hard it is. Maybe if you just had the right words.\n\nIt's getting late.\n\n[[Maybe it's you.]]
You remember stories you've read. Missing persons articles. Young adult fantasy novels. Horror stories written by teens on the internet. Forever-unpublished snippets from friends.\n\nYou remember stories you've written.\n\n[[Maybe it's something wise and ancient.]]
It's only the changing of the seasons.\n\nSomething heavy comes with it, anyway.
It reaches through the trees, swaying soft in the wind.\n\nThe forest is quiet. The chill of Autumn creeps closer with each passing night.\n\n[[It almost feels like something is coming.]]
The wind picks up, just for a moment. The leaves above rustle. Some of them have already begun to fall. Brown, dead leaves that crunch under your feet.\n\n[[Maybe it's something terrible.]]
It is dark.\n\n[[The moon is bright.]]
Life has never been a fantasy story, no matter how much you wish it was. No matter how badly or how often. You need to take joy in the little things - or that's what people tell you. People who care about you but don't know how to help you.\n\nClouds pass over the moon. The forest gets darker.\n\n[[Maybe it's something ethereal in its gentleness.]]
That's silly, of course. It's only the changing of seasons.\n\nIt has only ever been the changing of seasons.\n\nBut...\n\n[[You can feel it. Something is coming home.]]