I know you ache
I know every morning you have your sunrise accompanied by melancholy, keeping
the frosted blinds splintered for the weeping monstera who only wishes the crack of the light would reach you too
And a fleet of tears run dry, and they’ll march onto your bedside table from the top bunk
as you bow your head in shame for the shivering ivy
And headaches crawl into your frozen, vacant lot when all you want is a myriad of
summers cruising by in drones of warm laughter instead
Maybe that would keep the empty spaces full for longer before being blown away
and clouded in a blizzard of desolation
But you know it wouldn’t matter anyway, because March always feels like this
An unending feeling, one bordering on mania and paralysis
An undeserving one, too afraid to untwist the shades in fear that the flowers may never
bloom again But the coming season’s rebirth never comes without the pain of taking your first breath of life again