July

It's so close I can touch it. If only I wanted it badly enough, it would be here. Yet the days pass, one after the other, according to custom, and the sand slips between my fingers. I am no closer, no further away, than yesterday, but in relation to the goal, I have no perception of distance.

It seems the days will carry on like this, one after the other, according to custom, until sweltering summer turns to yellowed leaves and rainy shivers, and a life will have built itself here, rooted me here. If you look back you won't know how it happened. It's so hard not to know where you stand.