February lied. I knew it as a child. I called that shit at five. I could see the walls bleed with heart-shaped knives.
February lied.
I was tiny and I could feel this darkness in that universe inside me. Something wasn’t right. Every February without fail, I’d become somewhat catatonic and my will, to do anything, failed. Like clockwork.
I couldn’t control it and I had no idea why. But I know why now.But I also know how to handle it now, so it's got nothing on me. We're still together and I'm better and NOTHING binds me.
Everyone who knows me, knows how I used to be in February. Brace yourself it's coming, she's sinking. They beg me to sleep if off, they tell jokes and try to hold me. They'd try. But I just couldn't.
Because February lied.
I grew up and those two weeks in February still happened until one cold year it changed. Furniture rearranged. February wasn’t this time of being completely tied to bed, stuck in my head, with an apathy worse than pain. No. The lover’s month lied. February became the month when everybody I loved began to die.
February lied. I called that shit at five.
It’s like I knew what February had in store. Their candy didn't fool this little girl. All the hearts that I’ve held, that I’d hold no more.
I want to applaud the spinners and the sinners who concocted the lover’s intertwined angle. Like this is for lovers, still together and not the holes at our tables? Reservations and chocolate and shit words on wasted trees. When it’s six feet under and never again and “that time that we…”
It’s not a fancy box of wine and some sexy time… it’s just crying and calling it what it is.
Bullshit. Not fine.
February lied.
The truth about love in February is that it kills me. February takes away – it’s a thief. Takes souls I love and leaves.
February lied. I called that shit at five.
But maybe it didn’t. Because I always knew, but just the same, it still tried to. Something was up in February that would just incapacitate me with the deepest of blues. I guess even as a young girl, I was strong, you couldn'’t lie to my intuition. Something in me knew.
But I don’t fall down in Februaries anymore. I take everything, every anniversary of a death, and I let it dare me to do one thing I thought I could never do. Just one more. It’s the only way I know how to keep my loves active and here.
I move for you. I don't care if I'm naked and immobile, I promise to always try to, my dears.
That way, you change my destiny for the better, wherever you are, in that way, you’re here. Good as gold, back seat of my messy car. We never part if we play it that way. And so, I don’t think your gone anymore – I say your name everyday. We just learned to coexist in a different type of way. Until eternity let's you come back 'round my way.
February lied. I called that shit at five.
February is not about the kind of love that is "together". It’s about being apart and knowing how to survive....in really shitty weather.