The inspiration for this was literally just fall=fading. I started writing July first, so it’s possible that it gets worse from there, but I really do like the idea for this. I think the whole thing is pretty cool, but I like August the best.

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January

January brings the New Year and promises I whisper through my teeth. The earth turns with the lies people tell themselves. It’s cheeks white with frostbite and the ground white with snow. Nothing changes. It’s just another year to trudge through.

February

February is red and pink and nothing at all. It’s greenhouse-grown roses that smell of perfume and valentines no one ever really means. It keeps going. It’s a 4th birthday for some and a sixteenth birthday for others. The roses wilt and life goes on.

March

March feels like a new beginning, all pastel and floral. The world seems brighter, the days grow longer, and the air is crisp and cool. Things settle, and my days are spent watching the snow melt into the ground. A flower peeks through. Things are good.

April

April is rain and blue skies. The pavement’s dark with water, and little kids hop around avoiding earthworms. Things are tired again but a soft, refreshing kind of sleepy. The curtains blow in every once in a while, and the brown grass begins to turn green. It’s wet, warm, and wonderful.

May

May doesn’t exist. It feels like a glimpse of a road sign, a 31-day blur. It’s the idea of spring, a blink of warmth, and a night I don’t remember. Time passes, the world goes on, but I forget the feeling of waking up to the showers it brings.

June

June is splash pads and towels and the sweet smell of cut grass. It’s warm, and it envelops me when I step outside. The air tastes of the puffy white clouds in the sky. I’m wide awake. We skip rocks in the lake and lay on the deck.

July

July is hot and muggy and a blur. It rushes by me and all I remember are memories of the 9 ‘o’ clock sun in the sky and sitting on the front porch reminiscing of better times. It’s full of unhappiness and the sheer wrongness of being unhappy in the summer.

August

August feels like mahogany and melting chocolate. It’s slow and sleepy and trods along day after day. Spending them like molasses on a spoon, I laze about and stay up until 3 in the morning like a challenge to my burning eyes. I sleep until 12 and pretend the night was spent on the town with my friends.

September

September breaks the spell I feel I should have been under, and the guilt for the lack of magic is swept away. Nights grow longer and lazy days cease to exist. Things pick up, and I forget what summer air tasted like. It’s back to the real world.

October

October tastes like mulled apple cider and warmth. The leaves change to bright shades of red and orange until I forget they used to be green. I notice one day that I can see my breath in front of me. It’s friends and sleepy nights and a new kind of happiness.

November

November sneaks up on me. It’s a month of fading. Nothing slows down, things just seem to disappear. There’s no newness, but instead everything seems to recede and ignore me. It’s muted and faint and time seems to melt away from the world.

December

December appears in shades of peppermint and piles of snow. The sky turns grey and the air bites back. It’s not Christmas, just cold, and growing old catches up with me. The world is white and green and the colour of memories I shouldn’t have forgotten. This should feel important. Why doesn’t it?