I used to think all months had personality traits, characteristics defining them. October was for fine weather, August was when the smog disappeared, September was for crimson, murky red sunsets.
November was always numb, the month when you needed a little darkness to get you going.A month representing a transitory life; a work in progress; spinning out ignorant tales that made you lonesome for a storm - covering up footprints that you did not leave. The cold seeping in through the blankets, lurking behind the curtains, resting cautiously on the outskirts of your life, waiting for its window of opportunity. It was the month when snakes shed their skin, dreams fell like dried leaves. I forgot though, that it's where the sparks fly, the fire catches.
November was always numb, the month when you needed a little darkness to get you going.A month representing a transitory life; a work in progress; spinning out ignorant tales that made you lonesome for a storm - covering up footprints that you did not leave. The cold seeping in through the blankets, lurking behind the curtains, resting cautiously on the outskirts of your life, waiting for its window of opportunity. It was the month when snakes shed their skin, dreams fell like dried leaves. I forgot though, that it's where the sparks fly, the fire catches.
