The Rest Of Me

I've always liked to humanize the months of the year, and February has always seemed to me to be like a woman. She is a lonely month, so far from spring and fall. She had stretched herself too thin that year, like a prisoner on a rack, and was taking forever to move on. I was eased by this, for I too was unable to move forward towards spring. Caught up in this endless winter, there grew a space behind my ribs where a heart should be. For my love had taken my only heart, and left "the rest of ...

I've always liked to humanize the months of the year, and February has always seemed to me to be like a woman. She is a lonely month, so far from spring and fall. She had stretched herself too thin that year, like a prisoner on a rack, and was taking forever to move on. I was eased by this, for I too was unable to move forward towards spring. Caught up in this endless winter, there grew a space behind my ribs where a heart should be. For my love had taken my only heart, and left "the rest of me."