deciding to be

It’s been a long winter

and even though I know it’s technically spring

something in me isn’t kick starting with the buds and the birds and the weighted blanket of muddy ground, seeping with the April rains.

It feels like I’m forcing something that isn’t true to be true

but I’ve done enough pretending.

Maybe my winter will continue until it’s summer and I’ll skip spring altogether.

If I’m a stick in the mud then at least I’m a joyful one - at least when there’s an audience.

I’m remembering and letting memories come up when they do

I don’t really listen to music anymore. Only when it counts.

It’s a melancholy I never wanted to revisit,

this weird non-spring.

But I’ll lean into it and claim it as my own because what else is there to do when the world feels

like it’s in a different season

than you.