The Months

Last year I came across a blog with short phrases and sentences of beautifully strung together words that speak to the most personal, private part of your soul. They are from the blog titled I Wrote This For You, which says in its subtext, 

            "I need you to understand something. I wrote this for you. I wrote this for you and only you. Everything else who reads it, doesn't get it. They may think they get it, but they don't. This the sign you've been looking for. You were meant to read these words." 

So, here is one of my favorite passages titled The Children of Time;

"January has issues with her mother, February is always talking about things he wants to do while March does them, April eats sweets and May pays for them, June is the oldest but not the wisest and July always has an opinion of everything. August never stops trying to do the right thing, even if he doesn't always know what that is. September once saw something so sad, she never stopped crying. October holds the lift for anyone, vice-presidents and street sweepers alike (for his memory, not for theirs) and November makes fun of him for this. December is tired but always hopeful. He has never once stopped believing. 

Monday's obviously as bastard, quite literally as Dad can't remember what or who he was doing. Tuesday's temperamental but ok as long as you stay on her good side. Wednesday doesn't say much and Thursday sometimes hums just to break the silence. They're in love. Friday's always wasted and she and Saturday hold each other tightly until their delirium fades.

But Sunday, Sunday knows she's the end. But she closes her eyes, and she pretends with all the strength in her tiny heart that really, she's the dawn"