If You're Still Bleeding, You're the Lucky Ones.

The worst part is the minute you think you're past it, it starts all over again.

(Grey, M. 2009)

It's September. Leaf starts to turn orange, worn-out orange. Soon all going to fall off, unwanted. Shrill noises from bicycle's horn trying to dismiss the eager crowds craving for sun becomes infrequent, no more throwing balls, stripes rugs or blowing bubbles. Hands are now hiding underneath oversize jumper and the sun hides behind the pale grey cloud. Standing by the quiet autumn river never felt very sound, as if it sleeps, whilst tall buildings at the back looking weary. No, not because of the fading paint by the wall but simply because it looks bland. Nothing stands out to guard the fragile view. Often, the wind sweep the leaf-less branch, forcing them to dance. A slow dance; a waltz in the middle of autumn.

It's September. Wind does not help me to clear the dust and doubts in my head. Judgement, certainty and patience are altogether wearing thin. And the surroundings give nothing to hold on to. It's cold. Afraid one tiniest and smallest movement might danger the entire existence of my will to stand and simply survive. It's too cold, I might break. The utmost passion drive me far, far up to space, suddenly gone missing. I can't breathe. I can't write. I can't tell. Rush of frigid air suffocates my throat with questions. Countless thoughts are clouding up my mind, all messy and tangled, but instead of gasping for deep breath, I bit my tongue and running in circle.

It's September. A teardrop of rain fall onto my cheek. I glance up to the sky, wondering. I thought I should stop fighting. I thought I should take the easy road. Ignoring the journey, let alone the destination. But no, I am staying. I know you will come from afar, from that little bridge across the river, and hold my hand. Replacing this shabby jumper. And I don't have to feel cold anymore. This hope, this will, tiny little will, is enough for a start. You know what they say, it's not about waiting the storm to pass, it's about dancing in the rain.

It's September. Your birthday is around the corner. and the toughest Summer yet is finally over.