pigmenting:

august rolls over and yawns. wakes slow and heavy, stretching like a cat. outside, the sound of birds, the smell of grass. august turns over in an empty bed. his eyes feel swollen and tired. on the nightstand, a note from july - no one carries light like you do.

August skips down the road with a dampened forehead and smiles. One as wide as the horizon. The sound of footsteps and rolling winds with an aroma of fresh yarrow filling the air. With eyes bright and weepy, she reads a note from July - no one carries light like you do.