The time of year when the sun pokes you in the eyes at six o'clock, and colors start to change.
It always seems like Bardo Pond is waiting for me there, bleak, cold, windy, pent-up.
Their music reminds me of the fall season, and how it's freezing outside but hot in my car, and I can't decide if I want the window down or up, and my sunglasses on or off.
Every day feels similar with subtle, textural differences, coalescing forward to new things. This life is a stagnant play of bliss.
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