August

Rushes.
The blurry weeks
Wedged between a resolute winter
And an ethereal Spring
The days are hard to mark
The hours seem to burn quicker
Late nights all too quickly
Turn into early mornings.
No longer wearing socks in bed
But shorts still feel reckless.
Too warm for a heater
Too cold for a fan
January feels like a lifetime ago
Low key dreading the early Christmas decor
At the supermarket
Realizing the limits of my enthusiasm
Wondering where all my time and money’s been going.
Trying to bounce back from setbacks
Pivot from poor choices
And rise to the occasion.
The weeks to come will not be slow
The summer Sun will not relent
What will we make of the days
We have left?

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