With the movement of flipping my calendar to the next page, days and details of July are shaken out of my hair and blown out from behind my ears just to disintegrate on the wood floor. July is a lucid month, and mine was filled with fleeting colorful glimmers on chrome countertops, sunny insecure jittery pool parties with coworkers and tipsy twenty-somethings, my first beer(s), tears over this and that, a house-siting stint that gave me a rekindled friendship and mentorship as well as a taste of true adulthood and the easy romance of early mornings shadowed by purposefully restless previous nights, energetic guitar strumming accompanied by impassioned singing, two trips to a particular twinkly coffeehouse, 'changing my major' set on repeat for days, star gazing and hands held, cookies baked and eaten, phone calls dialed on the cusp of midnight, kisses stollen, daydreams of the future dancing behind my eyes and inside my baseball cap. July is a dream and August is the gentle waking up. August 1st, 2017