i’ve always felt at odds with august. time both seems to stall, sinking into the syrupy summer heat, and pick up speed as autumn nips at its heels. that syrup though - it coats everything, and everything in turn seems to cling.

august is more a month of beginnings and endings - birth and death - than even january or december. a month of disorientation. i try to swallow an entire lifetime in one bite, and it sticks in my throat. so, i hold my breath and wait for time to do what it does.