Dear August

Oh, August -

I have to be honest with you, August: we used to have something special.  Do you remember those long days of happiness we shared?  They were magical.  You were my favorite time of year not so very long ago, but...but...I don't know.  It seems like a distant dream now. 

I'll tell you what happened, and try to not interject your feelings before I'm done speaking, okay?  (You always were overtly domineering...)

You and I, August, were destined to be together.  Really, I know that sounds trite, but it was true with us.  As my birthday month, I always had a crush on you, even as a young girl.  We'd start our summer mornings together, wandering freely at my parents' house while they were gone to work.  Hah.  Such a time of exploration and freedom we enjoyed then, you know?  You taught me things, showed me bright sunniness in the middle of trying times. Adolescence was rough -- but you remember that well.  You've a mind like a steel trap, August, I'll give you that much.  You surely have no trouble recalling my gangly, angly figure while my childhood friends developed and sprouted before your eyes.  And as much as you must have wished that I was also as alluring and plump in my early teen years, you stuck by my late-developing side.  For that, I'll always love you. 

Well, part of me will always love you.  Part of me will always savor the feel of your heat on my skin as I read novels in the shade of our back yard.  Part of me will always listen for the drone of crickets and bugs and frogs which make up your sunset symphony.  Part of me will always wonder...what might have happened if we hadn't grown apart?

But we can't change the past, August. 

The circumstances of our love has been changed...shattered.  Where you once coccooned me with lazy days and sultry nights, now you stifle me.  I can hardly walk across the yard to play with my girls before your oppressive heat drives me away.  If there was one thing I always knew about you, August, it was that your love could turn from decadent to crushing at the drop of a minute, but you've proven it to me in the past few years in ways of which I didn't even know you were capable.

You burn me.

You melt me.

You hinder my movements as if you want to keep me locked in my cool house for days and weeks on end.  But August, I'm not your prisoner.  You can't stop me.  I'm going to take my precious daughters -- the daughters of Spring and Winter -- to the pool, and I'm going to slather us all in sunscreen to block out your damaging glare.  I'm going to turn on the hose and soak the innocent dogwood I planted in the Spring.  The tree you've done nothing but wilt and steal moisture from since you learned of her growth.  I'm going to thrive despite your torment, despite your best attempts to make me miserable.

August, I just...I wish it could have been different between us.  Perhaps if you tone it down a notch, I'll grow to love you again, but differently.  I now owe my loyalties to the milder seasons.  The meek, quiet months.  The ones which still know how to caress and sigh. 

Try to keep your distance from me, my dear, dear friend.  For that is all we can ever be, now.  And only when you've had some time to cool down.

Thanks for the memories, August.

Sincerely,
Sarah the Heavenly