august and longing.

August evenings are stricken with melancholy - with lingering, like all the ghosts from my past seem to want a conjugal visit and exchanges of closure. August feels like a word I recently read about, sonder. Sonder - the realisation that each random passerby is living a life as vivid and complex as your own. To go on a subway and to see a girl with headphones that would deafen me wrapped around her neck, with golden curls bounced past her shoulder and wonder if she had ever concurred something so tragic or wonderful, to imagine every moment in her life that would lead up to that very moment of her sitting in front of you, looking out the window; wondering if nostalgia from missed opportunities creep up on her when she looks at the leaves fall from the magnolia trees. Nostalgia, in my opinion, is a cruel misfortune. My pining becomes regret and regret becomes grief of promise unfulfilled. Summers are away from me, the oranges ripened, the mangoes fell all while I stayed in. During the evenings, I would hope to sit on the same park bench and read from the same place I had left off, the warm breeze tickled my skin and I sat there reminiscing about familiarity. We never realise a moment while we are in it, the funny thing about us humans, once it is gone do we realise how much it actually tainted our souls. I wish to go back and sit in the sandpit when I was two, I wish to not feel burden and I wish to not realise that my childhood slipped through my fingers. But through each summer, through each chapter of my life; the girl who never missed an opportunity calls within me and whispers “you have lived a life of promise fulfilled and blooming awaits.” Here I am in august, no longer pining at the summer romance I used to read about and the girl who never missed an opportunity calls out to me and says “you are right where you need to be, a new chapter awaits.”