february.

that month that is teetering, teetering into the beginnings of spring.

alright, gazing outside makes that last sentence sound like wishful thinking. or is that delusional thinking. whatever it is, hope must be maintained on freezing mondays such as these, and so i will hope hope hope my way through this spell of ice and snow and slush and temperatures that snap angrily at your face, leaving your cheeks red, your nose redder, and your eyes watering so much you feel like you're crying.

and crying this month would be so cliched, wouldn't it? it's a month rudely punctuated by a day of love & the demonstration of romance. for the loved up, it's a moment of bliss, but kind of stressful bliss - sure, you've made it clear to the one you love that you are in love, but now you have to convince the world of your love too! bouquets! teddybears! proclamations in the sky! the bigger, the better the love, apparently. which to me is sad. it means that private expression is seen as, well, lame in its lack of publicity.

and for the single? oh the single - it's the day that no one wants to talk about. it's the big pink elephant in this room we call february. you can celebrate it in a variety of ways, all equally tinged with glum. you can say you don't care about the day - look at its commercialization of such a pure emotion! you can sit around regretting the what could have beens, the what should have beens, what would never even be seen as remote possibilities till this overly long moment of longing...or or or....

you can remember the fact that love could show up on your doorstep any other day. in fact, chances are you'll feel more satisfaction in love or out of love or falling in love or thinking about love on every other day of the year.

and on that schmaltzy note, it's back to writing poetry.

and on that schmaltzier note, it's back to pretending i am doing something cooler than writing poetry.