Mark the Calendar

Mark the calendar

because it's been another

day, and I think we

can make it.

*

Remind me,

even without words,

that the weeks

will get easier.

*

As easy as coffee

in the morning.

As easy as just forgetting.

Let's not talk about it.

*

Restart the timer

because it's been an hour,

and I think this one

will be different.

*

I planned it,

and I'm dedicated.

I just have to wake up earlier,

try a little harder.

*

As hard as the rock

in my stomach

when I realize I forgot

again and again.

*

Square one

is starting to become

familiar.

*

Add reminder:

We are not defined

by our worst days, rather

how we overcome failure,

*

and everything is failure

until it's not.

If you think long enough

about it, you'll get lost,

*

and if you get lost,

you won't remember

to mark the calendar

for days we tried our best.

*

November, I cooked breakfast

for the first time in months

and remembered that I love

blueberry muffins.

*

I learned how to cut

a pomegranate

and savored the messy,

sweet grit.

*

Can you recount when

you found enjoyment

without the twinge

of guilt?

*

Starting over

no longer feels

like the right answer.

*

Mark this, somewhere.

It's been weeks since the

equinox, and in the aging

of this year,

*

I discovered that seasons

aren't always distinct

because summer and spring

linger in bouquets or lemonade.

*

Days, months, years

don't seem as heavy anymore.

We were counting for the

sake of sanity, weren't we?

*

I became the seasons,

and it wasn't

from planning

or drowning in caffeine.

*

It wasn't from simply

surviving the hardest days

or waking up earlier,

or marking the calendar.

*

It was understanding

that fire cannot billow

without wood, vines cannot crawl

without water or sun rays,

*

and people

cannot heal

without relief.