This August

Today, Heartbeats and the voice of guilt have filled the place, an unknown space, away from where any other human could reach.

A candle was tearing in the dark, all alone in the dark, lit with hope and now is drowning with tears of faith. For everyday, since last august, there has been a spark; that inflamed it with joy.

That for once, a day where light enchanted the heart of the candle for a while, simple words have cast a spell, filled with charm where that light has been flying carrying thoughts of white and purple carnations. But that flight was hardly going on, and those carnations have shriveled and never reached their destination.

Oh August, your days of nostalgia, eagerness and sorrow will be the scar that life won’t be able to sweep away. It will be the wound that’ll never be healed, and thus it shall bleed ‘till the soul of my candle be buried dead, lying in between those shriveled carnations.