August.

A week or so ago, I came across the phrase, "August is to summer what Sundays are to the weekend." Nothing has rung so true for me in quite some time. 

Sundays are one of my favorite days of the week--but the feeling of overwhelming dread is also often inevitable after crawling into bed on a Sunday night. Sundays are meant to be long and lazy--a day of enjoyment and a moment to breathe. Sundays are partnered with homemade pancakes and drives to nowhere. Yet Sundays are also the bittersweet signal that ends the rushed weekend. 

August signals the dog days of summer. Somehow, sunsets seem to take just a little longer to fade. There's a bit of sadness about them, like they're trying to warn you that you won't be able to enjoy many more until next year. The days blur together as they become filled with last-minute lunches and family vacations. Summer's end is on the horizon. 

August has become difficult for me. As I try to soak up the last sun-drenched moments of summer, the thought of my inevitable cross-country venture lurks in the back of my mind. Part of me reminds myself of how much I love autumn in New York, how I can't wait to see all my friends again and move into my first apartment. Yet another part of me wants to run in the opposite direction, determined to reach out for one last California sunset with a certain someone by my side. 

August is bittersweet, like so many other things in life. I think that I've grown to appreciate that bittersweet feeling, however. This summer, more than any other, I've learned from those nearest to me that these feelings shouldn't be repressed. There's a time to be happy, and there's a time to be sad. 

Most importantly, now is still the time to be happy. Now is the time to enjoy moments with those that I love the most. It's time to be here. Now.