dear february,
i’m sorry for all the bad things i said to you and about you and behind your back. you are cold and cruel, but you are lovely also. you didn’t hurt me; i hurt myself & tried to bring you with me.
you did not lie to me any more times than i lied to you or to myself. i was wrong. i am aware that i could have been different, if not for myself than for you, because you could not have been different.
you lose a day for three years out of four. you are unpredictable and dark, you are not tall. you are unfriendly. your shoes are thinning at the soles. denim shows the fat your legs are lacking. i could not love a thing about you, except that you exist. i still do. as you fade into the melting spring i will end up lonely and you will be a memory.
of walking in our winter clothes, of sunshine on cement. old coffee in a paper cup. i’m so much more than fine with that.
the memories are worth it and
i’m sorry. you are good.
