(A&I)

Since its inception, writers have entrusted varied connotations to the appearance of Autumn. One of my favorite scholars writes,
"Autumn is a second spring when every leaf is a flower" and, as such, we've conferred eternal proportion of diversity to the glory of autumn.

I wish to paint a different portrait of Autumn today.

Autumn

Is

Me.

Nobody can breathe autumn as passionately as I've been breathing it since the day we touched down in spring, enveloped by the essence of love, loyalty, and longing.

All of these aspects can not be bargained and yet bargained. Every day, I wake up to the reflection of us being intertwined by something strange and beautiful - it's love, darling. It absolutely is, and as you say - truly, madly and deeply - in love.

Who would dare to escape the insanity of love or defeat the intensity of longing?

Allegiance is arguable though. We can never be sure about it. Allegiance isn't obligatory in love, however, I might be confronted by the lovers who worship flesh too ("too" curfews everything)

Coming back to autumn, it has found its spirit in my barren heart which pursues a particular progression of hope and hopelessness.

Prospects are bright that autumn would agree, on certain other terms, with the vocabulary of my heart and think about an undisturbed +

and inseparable relationship with it.

Autumn has innumerable synonyms in most of the thick glossaries, however, the most likely to be preferred by autumn itself is 'miracle'.

Two people, who are in love, are each other's reflection beyond being conscience keepers.

Yet, When the shadow of a person deceives him and migrates to ensure somebody else's reflection, hope succumbs.
Autumn grabs its place to substantiate - the void is colonized.

Every day, it is autumn which plays verses of sorrow and suffering inside my heart; a torn chamber.
And, to enhance its misery, my reflection; shades someone else in elation.

(for @Vansakyadaleel )