August comes quietly, lazily and burning. August is sand, the smell of the sea, salt on the skin, sunny smiles, bare feet, freedom. It is a dream for eternal idyll and wearing shorts throughout the year. August is like a promise, with many hopes, indestructible, always there, always ours.
August is gone and no one can stop him. He has decided that his days will run out, swift, hot, just like in every past and summer. August is a constant - the warmest and most indestructible constant.
The following summer, maybe you will not be where you are now. The next summer around you will not be the same people. The next summer, even you will not be the man you are today. But next summer again will be August and again you will dream of freedom and smell of the sea.
August is gone. It will roll over the head until the next summer. His bosom legs will protrude from the end of the bed, and as the sand left on his clothes will remind himself of himself from time to time.
You will see it in the September Gypsy summer. In the smiles of the children who will continue to run before the block. You will see it in the blue eyes of a casual stranger and in that sheer dress that will stand for months in the closet.
August will soon be September. It will leave behind broken hearts, longings and many waves. But August will not go away from one place, and that's your heart.
Because August is not just a month, it is a way of life. It's sweet timelessness, hot days, long nights, mastic, watermelon, tattoo, and a lot of laughter. Goodbye, August, thank you for happening to me!
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