Three Hundred and Sixty-Five Delays
November is too close to December, therefore too close to Christmas.
If you leave then, their holiday will be lonely and listless.
And January is all the same, for what would they do with the gifts?
Just looking at the presents would be painful, thinking about everything they miss.
February is off limits because of Valentine's Day.
Breaking their belief in true love, making them feel bitter and betrayed.
March is dangerous because of Saint Patrick's Day.
As they would drown their separation sorrows and drink their sadness away.
April is supposed to represent the birth and fruition of all things.
But the downfall of resentment would mix in with the downpour of rain that spring brings.
There is promise said with the coming of May.
Maybe that's a good time to become more astray.
Soon after, June graduates to July.
A certain romanticism of summer love may make you second guess your intentions and why.
August brings about the need to end unfinished business.
But in doing so, you may not be granted forgiveness.
September is infamous for remembering that which was intentionally forgotten; a truly noteworthy month.
We are forced to move and rouse the pinched nerves which for obvious reasons were numbed.
October is the month in which my life first began; again, a gift-receiving event.
A fake smile is so boldly worn with the revealing of gifts, alike to the material things we present.
And then we are back to the start, to the monotony of stuck-in-the-middle November.
And among other things, a recap of our own history is something we are again forced to remember.
And just like that another year flies by, another year of delaying things.
But eventually we will have to face the inevitable, before the looming, lifelong promise of rings.