i will not betray you without saying goodbye first

forgot to wrap up july--here is a letter in which i do that, exactly. 

7 / 15

           

Dear July,

            When I first dreamt of you it was mid-December; Christmas songs make me homesick for your whirlpool of possibly. I lose track of calendars and the ticking of the lock goes mute for at least thirty days.  Your sunny twenty four and your showery twenty four alike leave me outside—no screens no chargers no glow you can rub off your retinas—and walks, so many marathons of switching between dirt and sidewalks. I met grace this July and their arms have cushioned the fall out: friends pushes oceans away from currents I can reach, the weakened bones of people I’ve only ever know to be old, the space between loving the process and teething for the result. July you are the sticky leather seats in a car without A/C, you are the roads I walk towards with paths of so many humans’ feet, you are inability and stagnancy, but you are quietly introducing your grace to me.

            While my hands do remain hesitant I’ll use my legs to climb the future branches, you remind to stay wary of. The obstacle course of ‘nexts’ and ‘afters’ and ‘fall(s)’, the shaky voices that come of your exterior to answer them. You have taught me that melancholy is passing inside and out of me, and that even the hottest heat can be forgotten in good company. July, I will miss these days we’re spent more than most months. I will use your archives to dig up goodbyes that I need to hand to dear smile and weak human eyes because I don’t if I will be seeing you, and if a month is supposed to last longer than 30 days, or is this just the weakness of the human consciousness we cannot understand that July is just the reality we hold and that dogs and slugs think of it in terms of what they smell and move across. July, is it nostalgic sympathetic to humans only? To your pages only? I hope your timetable was a bit longer in mine discussion with time so that I could feel more full than a matinee in the middle of December I may find myself in a few months. Then again, just as the comfort of Sunday--equally calming and shaking with stress—must end, your spin around the earth is coming to close. I will miss all things I learned this month, but mostly the importance of foresting the universe’s circularity and missing out on days indeed—I’ll be waiting for next year to keep you company again.

I would say hurry up but I’m trying to be less hasty,

c-b-n-l