you are frenzy and anxiety,
regret and desperateness.
I ache for July's leisure and
freedom as you take my hand, dragging me into
pools of begrudging acceptance of my
inevitable fate.
august you are the day that is never supposed to
come,
the distant "someday" that I have only pretended to be
interested in meeting.
you are the eternal setting sun,
the closing month of summer that
paints the sky oranges and pinks and reds with the
blood of the dying season.
august you are the warrior that charges into
fall, the goodbye that comes too soon, the future that I
must face.
We may only be strangers, dear August, but I wish we never had
met.