March [On]

A new month rises outside your window. It brings sunlight, little sprouts in the ground, signals of hope beamed to those who know where to look for them. You are on high alert for every last one, tracking sunset minutes, sensing vibration along the surface of your skin. You are tired, now, down to your last breath of air, your last leg, but you are alive, and the sun will let you sprout out of the husk you leave behind, its decaying self leaving nutrients and energy for the new self you grow out of it. 

The cycle continues, unaffected, unabated. It is a comfort, when everything else falters. 

A young girl on the subway platform asks if she is going in the right direction. It's her first time riding the subway. She's here to see all the things TikTok has told her to see. She is excited and terrified at once, you know the feeling well, adore her wide eyes. She asks if she can sit next to you on the train, tells you her itinerary, tells you she's never going to take the subway again but you tell her she will. You'll get the hang of it. Try to remember your first time on the subway. It must have been a six train. 

You always did love the six train. 

The years pass by you like caresses, you think it's all suffering and weights, but when you actually stop to look, have you not been blessed with the most magical days? New York came to you in a dream, eveyrthing came to you in a dream, you've been hiding in the darkness for a few months now but the sun is back now, little darling, life is back now, the magic is just getting ready to return, this is not the time to close the door. 

This is the time to sprout.