everything from the edge of the world

last autumn, winter had come too soon. summer forgot to bleed into september, and august forgot its warmth, and the storms rolled in sooner than we expected. the clouds had grayed and forgotten their colors. 

or maybe it’s that we forgot. 

july’s your favorite month, and it soon became mine—your birth month, your favorite season, your favorite smell. it reminds you of childhood days spent laying on cool woodboards to escape summer heat (your first house didn’t have air conditioning). we revolved around july, soaking in its heat, only for it to be gone by august. 

we danced in charred grass, waltzing along cliff edges as the earth unraveled beneath our footsteps. i rested my head against the heat of your chest, hoping to grasp each beat and each hum of each breath you took. you held me close. close enough to smother my breaths. 

we forgot that summer had burned our skin, forgot the world outside of us had colors, and forgot that it was now winter. 

or maybe we didn’t forget at all. 

the outlines of our names—we didn’t seem to notice the shapes carved into the other’s flesh. 

or maybe we did. 

it was all gone by november, leaving me sitting at the edge of the world as the world grayed and left nothing but the shapes your name created.

i’m not sure why july is my favorite month, but it was always yours.