The weather crashed down on me, the weight of it knocked the wind right from my chest and I spent the rest of the day gasping for breath. My body knows this color, this cold, and it reacts in utter panic.
Ten thousand to-do lists later, and I think I might have a hold of it.
How is it that I always forget 10 comes after 9? Do I really spend January through September of every year pretending this season doesn’t exist? October terrorizes me — the days change shape, time changes, the weather can’t make up it’s mind, and it doesn’t help that death is propped up as decoration everywhere I turn.
I want to sound every alarm and run as fast as I can. But I have learned to hold still, because thirty-two Octobers have come and gone, and not one has destroyed me yet.