Just as the leaves are changing, so am I.

It starts off subtle, the greens in my eyes turn dull and I am reminded that every winter, I say goodbye to a small part of me.

You could say that, in a way, this death is beautiful and necessary. That the leaves we pile and burn, are only the things we must let go of.

But as much as I try to accept it and grow from it, I cannot get over being bare simply to preserve myself through the cold. Or how it feels to be thought of as beautiful when the best parts of me are now in bags.

Then, when the hard months took everything they could from me – I am forced to bloom and be reborn for spring. I find new pieces of me to hold onto, bright green for the world to ignore, because there is only beauty in death.

Before you know it, there will be falling leaves again.