February

There are days when I personify the misplaced objects in my room that

I had neglected over a period of time

I did not think would pass

There are days I feel I am sinking into my own watch

February has always been a period of inherent optimism

I remember walking home from school and parades of perverts would drive by and blow kisses and splash the melted snow onto my skin

I’d throw my voice at them and watched it boomerang back at me

But those days I didn’t know no better

Back then the sky was green and the grass was blue and

You couldn’t tell me otherwise

And

Now I find myself in the same corners I thought I had left for good

Some days just feel like an extended January and

Some days I still feel the sting of that splash and

Some days my room collects more artifacts than others and

I treat them as trophies of simply getting through but

They never told me the finish line is the exact same place where they shot the gun in the air

Because

February has always been this period of inherent optimism

She always finds me no matter how far I run but damn

It’s the shortest month

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