July leaves a scar. A scar that will never heal. Through the quiet winds that blow on a cold winter’s night, you can hear the soft goodbye that July leaves behind. There is no warmth in the ending of something so harsh, so brutal. A piercing through the heart that cannot be undone.
Already there is nothing left except the fallen leaves from once happy trees, melodies from birds in the early morning that sings songs of sorrow and despair. We live on, as July leaves behind a bandage that has been used before. We curl up in the evening, avoiding the cutting of the cold in the dark night, hoping for brighter days and colour to return to the world.
July has taken something with him. A curious soul with adventure and bravery flowing in her. A dear friend who is never coming back. A lesson so cruel has been drilled in me, a lesson I never thought I needed; nothing lasts forever and you never truly know how long that something will live for. It felt like the unbearable sting of a wasp, except the pain never throbbed away, it simply continued until there was nothing left except a circle of the sting that can never be erased.
Our hearts are wild things, that beat so furiously in our cages, that lead us into the unknown that we surely think we do know. They keep us alive, pumping blood through our veins, carrying love and war within the vessels so delicate they could snap at the drop of an Autumn’s leaf. Yet even those that are the strongest and healthiest do not survive against the odds of life.
We do our best, are strong in our will to breathe, to live, to fight the battles that are bestowed upon us. But our hearts tire out. They slow down, they struggle and the cage becomes a place of comfort, not something to beat against and to try and escape.
We can escape reality through sleep but never permanently until we take our last breath. I thought my friend was the only one that left; but even the one that took her has disappeared. Without an apology, without a whisper of remorse. I am left alone in my puddle of tears, to pick up the pieces of my heart that is broken, while July moves on without even a trace apart from the death in his trail.
It is the way of life. It is not July’s fault for existing. It is not July’s fault that my friend is gone, and yet, as humans, we always want to blame someone, something. Even a month that is just a month. It’s not fair how something can be so alive and so awake and then suddenly gone. How something so special to you can still be breathing and present, and how the next moment it can just be taken away, by the snap of a finger of an invisible string of the events of what we call life.
July is gone, but unlike my friend who can never return, July will come back. And things will be different, changes would have occurred and memories will be fuzzy, but July will always be remembered for death and heartbreak. July said goodbye, but my friend didn’t get to. July left and said he would return, but not my friend. It is with a pain so deep that I am forced to say goodbye to July, and to forgive him for being the one involved with my friend’s quick departure. July has disappeared, and so has the colours that were once so vivid and bright in the eyes of my sad and broken heart.
