OMG WAIT YOURE RIGHT IT TOTALLY DOES-

Reminds me off the whole 'november feels like a thursday' thing (which is also very true)

Well, I just turned 13 and my birthday is in September so... I guess I agree XD  

How did you read my mind???  But also, what about colors, or is that just me?

Uhhhhh..... What about November? Does November have invisble vides, perhaps?

Okay, here are the colors of the months as I see them (and this is weirdly specific and long but bear with me): 

January: That specific shade that ice gets when it outlines the tree branches in white and you can see the sky through the ice and it's a faded, watery blue, like someone didn't let it steep long enough, and that blue is layered behind the white, and you can tell they're separate colors but you still register them as one when the pale sunlight flashes off of it just right. 

February: That color the sky gets when the thinnest veil of a cloud sweeps over the sky, casting it somewhere in between grey and blue, and you don't fully know whether the sun will burn away the clouds, or if they'll coalesce into a rainstorm. 

March: That pale, tinted pink of a new rosebud, in that phase no one ever taught you the word for where it's unfurled enough where you can see each individual petal, feel the velvety edges brushing against each other, but the petals still cling tight to each other, hiding the cluster of golden stamens within, it's a long way from a full blossom, but it's still quite the flower.

April: The color of a beautyberry bush's leaves, wide and grass-green, but somehow quiet and unassuming when compared to the reaching, verdant canopies of the other plants, shifting in the wind to reveal clutches of pink-purple berries, trailing against each other and the ground. 

May: The pure, verdant tone of green that seems lined with silver in the starlight and gold in the sun, the whispering-smooth color of oak leaves, the green that seems brighter when ruffled by the wind, that rubs against your tongue when you place a leaf of basil in your mouth, a flavorful green. 

June: The pale, creamy tone of yellow that's vanilla ice cream and sidewalks about to be covered in rainbow chalk and sunscreen you smeared on a smudge too thick, the scent of chlorine in the air as you touch the surface of a pool and laugh at your the cold shock of it, before tossing your towel on a faded beach chair and jumping in, the glint of water tossed up against the sky. 

July: The flash of a copper penny against dirty asphalt, the sun glaring off it briefly; you can't yet see whether it's heads or tails, but you pick it up anyway because luck is luck, and it's warm on both sides as you slip it into your pocket. 

August: The crackle of waist-high golden grass, dried and warmed by the sun, breaking as you wade through it, fading to a pale, dull yellow near the base, rooted in dry, crumbly brown. 

September: The golden brown of chestnuts, hazelnuts, toasted and eaten plain, the crackle of butter browning, toffee dipped in dark chocolate, butterscotch-y and nuanced, oatmeal cookies that bend before crumbling. 

October: The brown of leaves that aren't really brown, they're lined with gold or veined with red, they're orange in the light of a sunset and yellow in the humming glow of a street lamp, the color the same as the sounds they make as you shuffle through them, a dry, brisk sursurrus.  

November: The gray-brown of moth wings, fluttering in a ceaseless tornado of soft caresses, clustering around golden-orange candlelight, deeply patterned but blurring into one color at a distance, landing on brick walls and gleaming fenceposts and tattered cobwebs.

December: Light/medium blue looped through with white, like a wool scarf or knit sweater, the pure glitter of snow mixed with the unaltered purity of the sky, like the cold, sparkling flakes wiped every bit of ash from its surface, laughter drifting up and up and up, marshmallows melting in hot chocolate, the bite of cold in your chest when you breathe in too much of winter. 

AMPHIBIA

*hug*

I'm here for you whenever you need to tell someone how you really are. 

I'm so sorry you feel like that, Tsuki. When I was depressed a while ago, I tried opening up when someone (who I was close to) asked how I was doing, and saying that I was actually having a hard time. If they're a good friend or family member, they'll understand, and maybe they're even going through something similar (that happened to me). It's not as awkward as you think to tell people how you're actually feeling. Hugs!