it's a tuesday afternoon

july always makes me restless, so here is a poem.

I dream of a dinner where no one wants anything more than what I can give them.

It’s our best friends in a breeze, and we all wonder what July is for.

The summer gives us more time, but we will not use the hours in the day for anything other than being restless and melancholic.  

There is no one to miss, and I’ve decided ignorance is the only way to exist. 

I think of putting his cigarette in my mouth, but only just for a second. 

I think about the few people I love, and who answers me when I pray.

He asks me what I believe in, and I ask why it matters. 

Does God know it was me who let go first?

That must count for something.

Well, He knows the corner spot at the bar belongs to me - though, it seems hypocritical for someone who is ruled by the sun to want nothing more than to blend in.

She used to tell me that life makes decisions for us, and he tells me I can’t plan for anything. 

So, I’ve decided April is reserved for leather jackets and slip dresses and crowded bars. 

May is for when we felt like home. 

June is for denial, and July is for the truth mixed in with apologies. 

But he doesn’t know that August always belongs to me. 

The beginning of summer always leaves us with more questions that I’m not scared to know the answers to. 

But when August comes, I will refuse to ask anything.