I'm glad August is over because I'm not really sure how I felt about it. And if you know me long enough you would know that I hate not being able to categorise or label how I feel. At some points in August I was in an ultimate high, happiness was oozing from every pore in my body. I found myself at the dance floor in a wedding with a lame attempt in dancing with the happy bride. It felt like I was reflecting her happiness and excitement. I don't think I've ever been this happy for someone before. And at other times I found myself at rockbottom I could feel the taste of earth in my mouth, or was it salty tears? I'm not sure anymore. August was a blur.
Towards the end of August I found myself on a plane to Spain, exactly a year after visiting it. And it didn't feel like any other time I got on a plane. I didn't journal nor write letters, I barely even read. It felt like I slept throughout this trip and whatever time I was awake was either a mediocre dream or a nightmare. There is no point in pretending a trip was fun when it's not.
But looking at the bright side, because I can't just be negative all the time, August is over. September is here and it's up to me to at least attempt to make it a good one for a change.