I tend to lose the words first now. it seemed like summer took its time leaving, and all month I kept taking the comforter on and off at night. there were some iffy days in the middle there, but time still felt gauzy with latent promise. then at the end it poured rain and suddenly the evening light had shrunk.

sometimes it feels like every year you forget that summer isn’t all we crack it up to be. how easy it is to spend it wasting. or if not wasted, not exactly as planned. sometimes it feels like every year gets a little lost in that time between summer and fall.

when nothing is sure, everything is possible. — margaret drabble