Five of Twelve.

May is my favorite month. I mention that a lot, because it is so unbearably obvious to me that May is THE BEST and no one else gets it. Here we are, spinning along through the year, and in May we all lose control.
SAT, AP Test, SOLs, exams. We are suddenly expected to remember everything we've been forgetting since September.
Afterwards, though, it is peaceful. We glide around weightless and watch movies, or tie-dye shirts, or have conversations in class.
(Always there is the teacher that refuses to acknowledge the education degeneration. In this case it is Mr. Wolfe. We have a paper due next week and just started One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest, which I think I love.)
Warm weather comes and stays. There are brilliant thunderstorms that shake the house and light up the sky. In a matter of days all the trees are lush again.
The things we have worked for come to us in all sorts of ceremonies, or, weighed down with impending freedom, we give them up. See: my failure to complete any Latin homework this grading period.
May is the month that I listen to Neutral Milk Hotel. I become manic about documenting everything and my camera is rarely far. "Are you taking surreptitious pictures of me?" my Analysis teacher asked today. Yes, sir, why not?
I love endings and beginnings, and May is BOTH. It is possibility AND nostalgia, spring AND summer.