September Dawns

Staring into almost empty coffee cups.

As if the residue at the bottom has the power to turn the clocks back. 

Lying on a bed by the run down window, watching the waves crash on a familiar rock. As if the thought of summer doesn’t terrify you. 

Stopping one quarter of the way down the page. As if the words from your mouth had re-arranged themselves before they even made it to your hand.

The promise of change steps closer as the sun rises in the sky. The heat growing hot on your shoulders as you arch your back on the front porch.

The furniture in your room walks of its own accord, moving and moulding to the walls that will let go of you in a few short months.

Sometimes, 

the days dissolve in your mouth and soon, you forget what they taste like. 

Optimistic reassurance is often clouded by routine or the whispered promise of evil.