September was strange.
It was a long month that felt short, and yet also a short month that felt long.
It was a filler yet had its moments of fulfillment.
Moments of joy, and moments of discouragement.
I liked September.
It introduced me to the ways of words, and the ways of laughter.
I was surrounded by creative people, people who make me think.
I wrote more than I have in a while.
I didn’t like September.
I woke up sad, and I woke up angry, and I cried too much for my liking.
I slept too much, yet too little. I tried hard but still failed.
I wrote more, but I’m not sure any of it is good.
I wrote this poem simply because I didn’t want to write anything else.
It isn’t really good, and I don’t like it all that much.
But it’s better than what I was planning on writing, because I can’t write that anymore.
Life changes too fast to write things in advance.