My lost autumn

My missed autumn - a beautiful disaster.
It's hard to argue with reason, because you are reason,
But sometimes you can engage in a dialogue.
Step away a little from your own identity while still being
Within it, right in that very moment.
The radio is playing. The fifth track prevents a deep fall.
As soon as you find yourself in a pit,
You must absolutely stop.
So as not to be that girl who filled her mouth
With water and didn't know how to resurface.
You need to pause and listen because music is
What saves us from loneliness in the pit.
You want to break down the sounds
Into subtones and tinkles.
You want to touch the sounds,
Sometimes embrace them,
And sometimes dive in headfirst
And be drenched with coldness to the bone.
And you're still alive, remember that
—Autumn has arrived,
And invisible leaves rustle beneath your feet.
I'm heading home.
I touch the trees.
I talk to them.
They don't respond.
They remain silent.
Gesturing in the language of the mute.
Yes, they respond.