a letter to april

Dear April,
I've been incredibly worried about our relationship for some time. I thought perhaps I put too much pressure on you, choosing you as a favorite. Maybe you don't like standing out from the crowd. And I definitely singled you out, April. I professed my devotion to you and anticipated your return, hoping the way I remembered you wasn't all in my head. For the first few weeks you were here I thought perhaps, my memories were illusions. You weren't the warm and lively April I vowed to write odes to. You were fickle and pouty, bitter and cruel. It was as if you and March hatched a plan to torture me. Well, it worked. Oh, April; you're supposed to be temperate and graceful, fresh with green and blossoms. I don't even mind the way my allergies act up when you arrive, that's how I much I have adored you.

For a while, I did not know if I could love you again, at least not in the same way. But lately, you have been the April I know and love. You have been the Spring I longed for all those winter months of ice. You sure took your time comin' around, though, April. Are you trying to tell me something?

May will be here soon and I cannot even guess the surprises in store but for now I'd like to enjoy the short time I have left with the one I have, since childhood, been fond of. And that is you and only, April. It's your turn to seduce me again with your soft breezes and gentle caress. Make me fall in love with you the way I did lying on the hay bales on Annie's land as the cows grazed nearby. You were sweet then, even the air smelled like honeysuckle and I believed in your promise. Even if my devotion to you is born of nostalgia, I can think of worse ways to begin a relationship.

Belong to me, again, April. I've missed you, so.

Yours,
Devon