#septembercore

[thisischeri]

instagram: cheri.png

[janfebmarg]

[chikagestits]

“Happy birthday, August,” September says for the first time.

Except September knows that it’s a phrase long overdue. He’s not here anymore and he’s not coming back.

She didn’t bring him a cake or a candle to blow out or even a present because those all hold meanings she doesn’t understand. But those words meant something to him.

She saw how wide his smile got when April or December would celebrate August’s birthday, something she never did with him when it was just the two of them. He always celebrated hers though—a day that may not even be her actual birthday.

But she wants to tell him once. It’d be wistful thinking to want to go back then and say it while he was alive, but she’s not that kind of person.

So here she is telling him now.

In front of his grave.

There’s a certain emptiness that September can’t quite explain in the pit of her stomach and it’s been there since she heard of his death. But saying “Happy birthday, August” fills that emptiness just a bit.

But then September can’t help but remember that she once asked him “Did your wish come true?” and August simply smiled at her in this soft but sad way that was so August that September assumed he was going to be annoyingly optimistic about it.

But now, as she stands in front of his grave, September hopes, with what little hope she has, that his wish did come true.