Blessed Are the Forgetful

To Jasper Galloway, a chapter of his life had been constantly August. It spanned for quite some time, too—years to be exact, years in which he never complained. He loved the sun-kissed skin, the white-hotness of the days, and the bright sky that blinded him.

Then August left. And there was the crispness of November, the rebirth of March, the routines of September, and they’d all come back time and time again. But August?

She never came back.