a dying breed

Autumn in Tallinn. I haven't felt it in 6 years. And I have completely forgotten what it is like.
E. said the other day that it has been gradual. I literally woke up one morning and thought I had been smacked in the face with it.
It hits like a ton of bricks. But not solid bricks. But rather a ton of bricks that feel like a ton of clay mass, that you can't get rid of, or wash off, or anything. It's stuck to me, even when I sleep.
I wake up in the middle of the night, and think I'm cold.
And the worst part is, it makes me feel like I'm dying. Okay, not actually dying. Just the buzz or the excitement that I get during the summer, of just being and doing - I feel that dying.
The only, and I mean, THE ONLY thing I think I find appealing about autumn is the fact that Michael Bublé sounds divine. It just fits autumn. So it gets a point for that.

I like watching people. I was on the divine trolley-bus today, coming into town, and just watching people as the bus passed was so good. I was considering going round the town twice, just to see people.

A dying breed.
But maybe it's always been a dying breed.

These are strange times.
But then again, which times aren't?

I would like to love someone in Paris. In Paris, in an attic room, one autumn. Like in the operas, you know. Artists and attic rooms, and autumn, and leaves, and scarves, and markets, and candles.
I would like to love someone in Paris.
Now that would make an autumn.
M.