August

There are moments when life feels perfect, as though the universe has conspired to freeze time, wrapping you in its golden haze. But perfection whispers its warning, "Are you sure?" Because nothing in this world is ever ours to keep, everything is fleeting.

August is a season of almost, a love that slips through your fingers like sand leaving only the memory of warmth. It's a month that lingers briefly then vanishes, much like the way "you and I".

For Matthew Augustus Napoleon, love was a fleeting summer storm, a sweet, reckless surrender to a boy who wasn't his to keep. In their world of hidden glances and sun-drenched afternoons, they promised each other forever, but forever was always an illusion. Now, all that remains are echoes of laughter, shadows of touch, and the bittersweet truth that some loves are meant to be felt, not held.

August isn't just a season-it's a memory, a question, a goodbye that never truly left.