This seems to me like the season of corrosion.

Where all we know and what we thought we wanted to know, seeps next to us, first as light and then as this entity that we discover as corrosive.

Corrosive elements are dangerous things, they burn, they twist, they smoke, and then at times, burst into flames.

We want love, we want to be loved.

But loving in times of corrosion may become paradoxical, forms of annihilation.

Perhaps, what is best to do, is to keep this little bit of love that is left, in my pocket.