letter to February

Dear February,

I am not sure exactly how to put this so as not to offend your delicate sensibilities. I have been concerned about you for some time. Last week you seemed very moody, throwing all sorts of tantrums: snow, lightning, fog, rain. I mean seriously, what has gotten in to you? I suppose I should be glad that presently you are at least acting the way I expected, cruel and petulant. But I can barely feel my hands much less my heart.

Oh, February, we've had these conversations before. And I know, I know it's early to be making judgments on how you will treat me this year. However, you've shown such unpredictability that I was compelled to engage with you. I want to be your friend, February, to think of you fondly as you have brought me success and accomplishment. You have given me the beginning of my dreams. Why did you have to do this so harshly, though? Are you testing me?

Let's be honest, February, you and I have never been good friends. You've been too quick and too full, simply too much for me to take. And it isn't exactly all your fault. You have a lot weighing on you. We all know how much responsibility you carry. We appreciate it. But I, personally, would appreciate you more, perhaps even grow fond of you if you could relax a bit. Let go of your resentment and hold us close with a bit warmer embraces than you have shown recently.

I know you have it in you. You're the month of cupid, of affection. You are reds and pale pinks not bitter, bitter white. Do us both a favor, February: get over yourself and enjoy the Valentines we would give you if only you were nicer.

I will write again later, just to remind you of what we could be if you would stop being so damn cold.