There is an oddly specific sense of longing that I, as for now, have only found in goodbyes, August and waiting halls. I love August for the same things I hate it - the feeling of end without beginning, the cold and not-summer-like rains that give the first glimpse of the coming autumn and golden sunsets that never get back the pink blush of June. In August I always feel especially thoughtful and melancholic, as if the whole notion of my mood was solely held by the summer. The winds are getting stronger and colder, the days are shorter and quieter, and the world is slowly covering itself again with the veil of morning fogs.