Letter to February

Dear February,

We’re slowly reaching the end of our time together and you’re leaving me in a worst state than you found me in. You’ve taught me some things and won’t make yourself easy to forget. I know for a fact that your troubling legacy will live on through most of March; as you slowly disappear your aura will indefinitely linger. Like a ghost in the corner you’ll be watching over your remains, and a chill will run up my spine as I am reminded of you and the accident we embarked on together. I don’t blame you though, February, you don’t mean to be so cold. Maybe it’s from all the lost and faded hope that the previous months encouraged. Maybe it’s just the way reality and routine slowly starts creeping back in. But by being cold, you let others feel warm as they bundle up in their sweaters and scarves to protect themselves from your bitterness that can take their breath away. But primarily, you make us feel alive! We step outside and can feel your presence in the air, making us aware of our own breath, our purpose. Despite our age we still stand there for a moment and admire those little clouds of purpose that you help to create.

I hope you don’t feel lonely, February. I know I don’t spend a lot of time with you but you need to understand that I’ve learnt how dangerous you can be and how you can make everything go wrong in a matter of seconds. I’ve just been keeping my distance after you so effortlessly removed the wonderful feeling of independence and freedom, of whom I only just met. But the funny thing about you, February, is that despite your dangerous, icy conditions, you still have the audacity to shine. You are a juxtaposition at its best. And in spite of sitting here wondering if good things can happen without there being a detrimental consequence or without it being taken away so soon, I now realise that it’s only a change of direction to feel your warmth radiating. I don’t think you get told this a lot, but I think you’re beautiful. From the way you make everything look so angelic, and how everything you touch, glistens.

So like the bruises you left me with, it takes time to heal. I just hope that March is more comforting and can help fix the mess you’ve made. But for now, I’ll be picking up the pieces and hopefully when we meet again, I’ll be whole.


Always, Ashlea


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