The month of March is upon you again. You reach your palms towards the blinding glare of the sun, and wonder how a monument so grave could’ve washed up so quickly, so noiselessly. You feel blindsided, betrayed by the passing of time. It’s not fair, you think, that you’ve spent an entire year submerged in the monotone hopelessness of repeated days. Every scale unbalanced, every plan compromised. The unpredictability of everyday life has become predictable, and the faded tones of the grass beneath your feet reflect the grey sky above. When the world closed its doors last year, you were almost relieved, for the hecticness of change provided a needed respite from the sinking madness of March. But now, as you approach those same days once more, you find yourself wondering what you wouldn’t give to go back.