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  • Writer's pictureShelly Desjarlais

To May

April is reaching its end. Branches are swallowed by green leaves as white blossoms drift to the streets like snowflakes. Calm mornings unfurl into stormy afternoons. Dark clouds come and go as quickly as lovers in motel rooms. Eastern humidity clings. From this, I have learned. Gray days are constant. Hearts are not.

In the thick of this turbulent season, I dig my toes into the ground. Just stop. Kill this moment. Let me breathe. Make the clock turn back. Never leave me at the mercy of spring. Open my world to the unending chill of winter. Place my soul in January where it may freeze.

Quote the calendar like a Bible. Read off the months that are supposed to teach me about myself. Somehow, I will come to understand. There will a second when I accept the weather must change. Under shifting skies, you will find me sitting upon forgotten sidewalks. Vulnerable, I shall wait.

Wait for the realization to come. X out the days we’ve lost. Yell over the howl of April showers. Zephyrs will float softly into our arms—if only we can make it to May.

**This was an alphabet challenge! Every sentence begins with A - Z in consecutive order.**

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