she was a year
She was Julyās heat, scorched to the ground. She was Augustās first monsoon; brutal, yes, but the soil would never be fertile without her. She was Septemberās uncertainty, when youāre not sure you want to keep going. She was Octoberās first chill and the warm tea cupped in your palms while leaves flare orange outside the window. She was Novemberās first snow, the thrill of sleds and snowmobile sugar She was the whole of December; reminiscence, regret, guilt, nostalgia, all at once.
She was everything; no calendar could fold her into months.








