It is august.

Last year I came to life during this month

finding myself in kisses and smiles

in stolen hours and midnight car rides

building a home in another

discovering the truest me with a warm hand helping me

through a world where I didn’t face the quiet alone

–

It is august

This year I’m sinking into the quietest death

accepting that emptiness is a feeling I fight alone again

aching for the arms of anyone’s embrace

feeling adrift in the way I never wanted to again

lost on things so simple as what to do with my hands

–

It is august

and I am waiting for something

something has to be coming

something has to be changing

it has to be.

please