Elaborate how on earth we’re nearing August already— I have unknowingly lost track of time.

Have I read too much Anatomy books? Spent ample time glorifying my professor like a demi-god (who chants, ‘before we turn from dust to dust to dust, we become a framework of bones’)? Have I been passively reading Marvel comics and emulated a Steve Rogers with a defeated circadian rhythm? Fooling myself it was only 7 minutes of nap, when in the counterfactual world, it has been 70 years already?

On a car ride home, I sang on top of my lungs: a song about calendar months, a girl in love with the world, and  getting lost and  essentially wanting to be found. That was the time I believed I would own January, February, March, April until December. Perhaps, I’ll have the whole of 2011, and next year (if lucky enough to bypass the rapture), and 2013 and so on and so forth.

 The pages keep turning. I keep running away, my heart is all over the place and I still keep coming back. I’m alive (as resonant as ever).

It is true, after all, that before we become ashes, we become bones, then what’s left of you and me, are our calloused souls.

And that’s the part where the music dies and you’re at a loss for words. You gaze at the months ushering in the twinkling of an eye. With caved-in ribcages, and a casting of a heavy sigh, you rely on recency effect: I’m alive, I’m alive.