Dear May.

You are the extension of a beginning, remedy for a false start. Had my ear so close to the ground for thunder I didn’t notice it was getting warmer, didn’t need these scarves and cardigans. Didn’t think I’d still be at such a stalemate, but The Call will determine and from there we will go.

The only joy I count for April is Record Store Day, and the vinyl parties and open mic nights and friend hangs streaming long, indulgent but meaningful conversation into the night. The hair changed style, changed color yet again, nails were painted that hadn’t been in previous years, superfluous passage of time. April, you ran up my phonebill in the worst kind of way, but it was a necessary evil . Bye.

May, don’t be so apologetic for things you’ve yet to do, things that aren’t your fault, things that sprawl out before me on some invisible calendar…all invisible until That Call. And if not that one, then another. And if not that one, then another and another and another until this is resolved. Hold me up in the sun so I can enjoy it as long as I can, some early inkling of summertime sadness.

As always, be sweet, and maybe a few less bruises. April jostled me around, took me for a turn. But you’re the beginning (like Editors say, even an end has a start), that place between extremes of excitement and some loathsome, dreadful fear. Uncertainty is bred from both, and I’ll sit with that til the answers come. Thanks for the people who chose to sit with me while I wait; for that I am eternally grateful. 

xo