Michael in October {#2}

Some time in October,
electricity lit up the city,
like it does everyday;
however, on the 23rd,
I actually felt it.
I always knew
that the clouds float above me,
that the sun burns my eyes
and how bright things can make you cry, too,
that the hot water from the shower
feels like rain except
it actually stung when it's
not supposed to.
But some time in October,
I notice the sky was actually a dome
that encloses a safe place
the earth, our home.
The sun hurts me in many ways,
but in October,
I felt grateful for how it
allows vegetation, and beach days,
and sun-kissed skin, and California,
and summer flings, and sunflowers, too.
And when it rained,
I felt it, too.
Except I wasn't in the shower.
I was at Pickard Hall.
And you were in line by the nursing office,
and I was in the bathroom,
and yes I did notice you.
And yes, I chose to walk past you.
Because Michael,
that rainy morning,
it was not in the shower that I felt the rain.
I felt it the day I first saw you.
And unlike my hot showers,
it did not sting much.
But I had to walk past you.
Because the moment I recognized you,
I already knew, like my hot showers,
it's bound to sting soon.
When it's not supposed to.
October always felt like autumn,
because it is autumn, and with the leaves,
I fall for you, too.
Leaf by leaf, day by day.
Heart beat by heart beat.
But we both know that heartbeats
are just contractions of the heart that
eject volume to feed oxygen to our body.
But no, let me have my October.
Let me take a step back and not be like you,
who only lived to charge his phone,
and said that the clouds look like cotton candy,
and that Texas summers are the best,
and thought that rainy days are inconvenient
while laughing at the classic joke
that your car will get into an accident because of the sky.
In October, let me be not like you.
Let me feel October with my heart
and appreciate it like how I would a masterpiece.
Because you made it that way Michael.
You made Octobers make me feel every bit of it.