We were too late, dear.

twenty-twenty-one March,
would you be so kind as to leave the door open for me-
I don't want to wake you up in the middle of the night
and for all your days to scatter and run.
I hope you bring peace and certainty
So that I don't mix the rain for my tears
or yellow for something good.
so I know how to count to ten without missing four and six.
I hope I know by then about all the parts that make me grey
so I can paint myself instead with the night sky
and the morning sun
because there is the blue that will always be a part of me
and some I've yet to paint.
but March,
take your time or move fast it is not up to me,
I just hope you grow up too.
• • • • • •
I tried so hard to refrain myself from editing the first piece I wrote last March because I am not proud (it was actually April but semantics right). And I didn’t! Kind of. I was reading my past stuff like the casual nostalgist I am and specifically came across the first piece n was hit by something so sudden I can not explain it to u even if I tried and decided to write feverishly an answer back to past march from This march’s pov. I imagined twenty-twenty-one March to be a borderline old British aunt that lives in a cottage in the 1800s that likes to collect teacups and invites strangers to her house just because they look kind. how nice is she right?
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twenty-twenty March, please do come in, I'll make you some tea. god, it's awfully cold out there – leave your shoes outside, none of that in here. now, you know I care for you dearly but I'm afraid I haven't much time to talk about whether and how you've been doing. you were so good to me, I had hoped I could do better. I let go of my days too soon and they never returned to me. I'm sorry for you to hear that. I don't come empty-handed though; I present to you the first day of my birth. she was so happy, I very much wish you could have seen it. You can be proud of that, at least. the only thing I regret is giving her too much hope, don't you think? I'm sorry to be so dire, I haven't made a very good first impression have I? I'll have you know I didn't miss four or six, much to your delight I'm sure, but it was eight that got me. she was too smart for me, hiding her feet and leaving ghosts in-between minutes, everywhere I couldn't reach. I did do you wrong, I admit. but in my defense, you hadn't given me enough time. How could you expect me to patch things up in a year; grief doesn't walk in a straight line, you know that more than anyone I've ever met. I hope you've changed your mind about blue, I know I did. It's not the same anymore, and I hope you can forgive me for that. It's hard to understand, but i'm not important anymore. She got the better of all of us. It's how it is. One last thing before you leave, I did grow. did you see me grow? I was unbelievable, but i'm not so sure it means anything anymore, alas. We were too late, dear.