September 1st.

The dreaded month.

I wish I could go to bed now and wake up to October. For the past five years, this month meant disappointment, lost hopes, broken dreams, endless tears. Every year, I dealt with them differently. I hope it will also be different this year. No, I don't want to hope. Hoping is a fool's cry for help. I've run out of ways to handle this.

Please.

Wake me up when September ends.