Here’s the truth about September:
It sneaks up on you and all of a sudden it’s autumn
and you don’t know what to do with your recently orphaned August daydreams
so you tuck them between the pages of brand new notebooks
and leave them in the corners of your sweatshirt pockets to gather lint
and you set them on fire until all the trees are smoldering red and orange and yellow.
If you spent half of your life seeking for something, like love, and people like them walk in, you stop seeking for the half, and place all hopes in the other. If I worked harder when I was half my age, these would all be a metaphor for something greater, say things that I haven’t thought before. Now I am… Replacing my books and getting my hands tied on programming, on a new language like any other, learning the conversation from scratch. I have been flipping this coin my entire life, now stopped at an impasse, I can’t outdo the odds anymore.
There is nothing sad about a broken heart. Sometimes our dreams shatter, sometimes the pain disappears, and we grow too fond to be fearful of the night. I lay awake in bed, unsure of how I should feel - If I even had answers to these doldrums, I had his arms to lay in, to wake up to the 17th in the mid of September. It will all end, this exuberance will all end, and the results will leave you in desolate sadness.