August.

            August has finally arrived, and with it the winds of change that steadily follows from the north. A gust of wind that whispers the year is almost over, and sings the chimes of Fall. My anticipation for this month is high simply for its vague outlook and uncertainty of what the days and weeks will carry. I’m at the entrance of a dark unexplored carven unequipped with the tools to overcome any obstacles. There is one certainty, a tiny flame that follows me faintly lighting the ghostly path, my writing.

            I’m optimistic for once about my writing, today. I couldn’t miss this opportunity to capitalize on this feeling. My writing has improved, I believe, as one believes to keep sane, and I can see that. My ideas seem clearer to me. Words carry more meaning, and my mistakes, although there, are few and humble. Two months ago I picked up poetry a frontier new to me. I’m still adapting to the beauty of its style, reading and listening to different forms of the art from the Romantics to The Smiths. I challenged myself to write haikus about a beauty I see in the streets. Now, if only I had the guts to recite it to them. My voice is scratching to be heard. I can hear it screaming in my head.

            I created this blog back in late November someday after my birthday, but didn’t get serious about it till someday-early February. Even then my appearance was few, going days and weeks without a post. My excuse? School, maybe, or my inner-demon telling me everything sucks. His presence is slowly fading. I’m writing more and more each day, and the sound of the keys clicking on the keyboard drown out any doubt that may be trying to pronounce itself.

            August is here and I don’t know what to expect. All I have is my writing to occupy me till the end of the month when I would start school again in September. But this unknown is exciting, and I hope this month lingers.

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