february's over
this was always supposed to mean
that things get better
the surest quick fix
was changing the calendar
but now i find
that time is a myth
time is arbitrary
march is just another word
every lesson i've learned for the last year is still true
but then why
does it
all
end
the same?
i still find the smell of you on my clothes
and pause
i still know that when i can write every day
i'm okay
i still wonder if the boy whose birthday is tomorrow
is alive
and if he ever thought of me again
even when i live in an apartment that has windows
i still need to see the sun
