I want August to feel like a love I’ve missed

something once familiar but long neglected.

Like creativity without deadlines.

Like rest without guilt.

I want to meet myself again, slowly, and without apology.

She will be gentle, like warm oil after a long, steamy shower filled with eucalyptus.

Her radiance will spill into the soft places, restoring what’s been cracked and forgotten.

August won’t be rushed or grasping.

She will simply be, smoothing everything she touches.

She will dance in humid rain, sweat out the “what-ifs,” and cry tears of joy after triumph.

Reckoning.

A return.

Still worthy of softness, still capable of glow.

Her love will feel like innocent blue butterflies fluttering toward new beginnings,

their wings brushing my forehead

leaving more than a kiss.

She will feel like the sharp creases in a love letter.

She will carry my obsessions: true crime, romance novels, and the countless edits of my own work.

Yet she will feel free. Awakened.

The caress she’s been craving will be answered with intentional care, quiet romance, and the courage to feel beyond the surface.

August will be mine to embrace

to take back,

to hold close,

to win back the gold.

She’s mine.