My Dearest February,
I think it's time we end this. It's not you, it's me...and a little bit you. You are a great month. You have been a stepping stone in my life from winter to spring and thus have been a pretty important space of time. But I really can't live this lie anymore, pretending everything is ok with us. It's not. You play with my emotions, you are hot and cold, you make me feel fat and pasty and I never know where I stand with you. I don't know whether or not I should wear boots or sandals. From one hour to the next I don't know if I should work out outside or go to the gym, rake leaves or shovel snow and you force me to wear bronzer. Not ever knowing what to expect from you is exhausting and I think it's time I move on (and by move on I mean get back with you in 24 hours and then break up for good in two weeks - the first one never takes). We will always have our memories...V-day (which was excellent this year), Jazz games, the Globetrotters and soup. You were always a good month for soup.
Your soon-to-be ex, who was never really all that committed in the first place.