At the end
The sky is cloudy.

All my friends
Have moved away
And the love of my youth
Has been lost
To a reluctantly emerging
Adulthood.

Rain threatens
But does not pour.

My three month hangover
Is finally
Subsiding
And it's at last
Being replaced
With the headache
Of an impossibly short
Autumn.

The first drops fall
Bringing a few leaves with them.

I wonder if there will be
Any green
After the storm passes-
You grab my hand tightly
And tell me "of course".

But at the end
It's hard to see the sun
Through the clouds.