If you asked me the real reason I keep the windows open at night,
I might tell you that I’m scared to death of dying
and I don’t want to be trapped inside a building for all of eternity.
When I die,
I want to haunt three months of the year and not the second story of an apartment.
I want to sleep through spring and summer and wake just long enough to check on you,
to feel you with the cooling weather,
to condensate on the glass while you sleep,
to be breathed into you as smoke
while you watch new fires with newer lovers.
I do not want to rob you of the seasons you love the most,
but I hope you think of me when October comes back ‘round.