letter to April
You and I have quite a sordid and conflicted history. I have loved you wholeheartedly and craved the warmth I know you possess. In the past, I have been heartbroken by your fickleness but today, though I am wearing socks and a long sleeve shirt and using a blanket to stay warm, I am comforted by your unpredictability. I enjoyed the mild winter that preceeded your arrival but I was concerned in March when it was a bit too warm and I was already fighting with ants and flies. And then you come along with your changing mood. For the first time since I began writing letters to you, I understand the need to shift and change, to be something... unexpected.
You are a bit dramatic, however, announcing your impending departure so boldly. I think you are jealous, April, jealous of the attention that May and June receive. You are in between, aren't you, so much expected for the one who heralds Spring?
I know your secret, April, the way you can turn suddenly cold as if to show the rest of us you mean business, that you aren't all pleasantries and transitions. No, you have your own identity and it is not tethered to our desires, is it?
I have reveled in your sun, shivered in your shadow; I have loved you from a far and in poetry. I have been grateful for the flowers, the promises you offer. I have known that your love, our relationship is fleeting and often, one-sided.
I forgive you, April. I know what it's like to be under pressure, have people depending on you and feeling like you let them down. I still love you; I probably always will.
Could I ask a favor? Could you warm up just a little? Like maybe 10 degrees?