I’ve tried to make this month last, but it’s been slipping past me faster with each day going by. Even when I tried to hold on, because my mother used to warn me about wishing my life away, I couldn’t make myself hold tightly enough. My eyes were too distracted by March, who’s been standing on the horizon waiting his turn patiently. He will keep waiting until February is finished, but I want to run to him so badly.
Still, I’m too afraid to let go. I keep staring him in the face, but I won’t let February run away yet. I won’t stop reaching for February’s hands to keep me steady. No matter how much I want to take my chances with March, to cling onto him like the old friend he is, I’m just not ready. I’m painfully aware that he will undoubtedly bring a plethora of storms with him; an early start to spring showers when I’ve just become accustomed to staying out of the rain.
I know that the storms will pass and flowers will bloom all around me, all over me if I step outside for even a moment, but the storms are going to be brutal nonetheless.