Wake Me up When September Ends

September comes again uninvited - with rain, wet sleeves, and a quiet ringing, as if someone is checking to see if everything still hurts. Summer leaves like guests who promised to stay longer but are rushing to catch the last bus. Memory pretends to be asleep, but fingers still hold the knots of loss. Here, people don't grow up according to their passports: you get wet, and suddenly you become who you have to be. You want to press the “rewind” button, but the calendar is stubborn and politely reminds you: we'll wait it out, it will get easier - sometime after September.