Sometimes, on quiet, still nights I hear August's maniacal laughter. I sense his presence with me, on those nights. They are my favorite nights. I imagine us running across the apple orchards and through the corn fields, setting fire to the world. I picture us climbing the tall willow tree and jumping off from the highest point we would dare. I welcome the memory of our first fight, and the hug that followed. I remember his smile, the crazy grin of a young boy. The smirk which revealed that August was much more than the rest of us.
These are the memories I prefer to remember. August has always been smarter then me. In the end, I think he knew. He knew I wasn't strong enough, so he tried to ease my burden. I was 19. Young in the world and unaware of my mistakes. I used this fact to tell myself that what I did was okay, that it wasn't my fault. But I came to see later that it was, in fact, my fault. I tell myself that August forgives me, and he probably does, but I have never really forgiven myself.
And only on these nights. These calm, silent nights, do I find peace. Not within myself, but for in these nights I feel August at rest. I feel him running with me, climbing the trees and swimming in the dark. I can feel him reading his books, reciting lines he had deemed brilliant. I can feel his energy traveling inside me, keeping me alive. And on these nights, these nights where everyone else is in their home, eating dinner and going to bed early, overlooking the true beauty of it all, I am living. I am setting fire to the world.
