i'm one of billions of people in this world that actually would write this letter to you. i don't care if you are named from augustus caesar or whatever, i just hope that, you don't turn into another fucked up month. because i think, it's about time you will become a lucky month for me, at least just for this year.
the only best thing i can think about you august is that the summer is still here albeit the long day has gone, and the insects are much noisier and much more than any other months. oh and the birds too.
to be honest august, this year sucks. last few months are much worser than i thought it would be. thus i'm not really getting my hopes high that you will finally become my luckiest month of the first half of the year. oh wait, we're in the second half. yes, i am that desperate to have something to believe that something bad not happened to me.
because history shows that luck, happiness, is excruciatingly far from me whenever i bumped into you. i can't remember; i don't think i'm able to find one thing in my whole life, whats so good about you really.
hence i'm writing this letter as a desperate attempt to embrace you, to accept you august.
i hope you will not beat me half dead, i mean, cornered me till the outmost desperate attempt of running away - via the idea of suicide, again.
august, if you think i'm such a dumbass to write this letter to you, or if you think i'm such a fool to try to be positive about the negative waves that you plotted, or if you think i'm such a drama king, or a desperado, feel free to think so, because i am.
i am desperate to go pass the hardships the tests, everything that can stop me from being strong to co-op with the ongoing rush of times, i need to move on, strongly.
so please dear august, be good to me.