Brown leaves yellow. Curled like crêpe on the grass. The park is rainbowed with dew and crows scuffle for breakfast. Watched by a cat, twitch and chirrup. The trees shed for winter. Autumn blue biting at my cheeks. Keys of sycamore where the sun arrives in double-decker squares. The man on the next bench has a face like a cardboards box. He rips a letter into shreds and scatters it among footsteps. My jacket creaks as I stand and I look down. Among the remains I can see only one word, ‘Sorry’.
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