January and June were the best of friends,
inseparable yet worlds apart.
January heard every grain of sand that dripped
in her hourglass-filled mind,
each pleasure like graceful, delicate, drifting flakes
melting away beneath her unflinching, unrelenting drive.
June had a soft, winter sun-lit laugh,
sweet as the incandescent tiny creatures dancing with her thoughts,
napping in her mind.
Confidante of the moon, beneath whose loving eyes she danced,
whistling of time, skeptical of fate,
and wading in oceans of hope for love.
One only danced if her twirls gave her meaning
and one saw that dancing was meaning enough.
One cursed at sleeping for stealing her seconds,
while one preferred dreams to wash over her world.
One can’t have light to blind her from goals
and one feels the chill of a stubborn reality
One tells the other she cannot exist,
though one will not hear with those dreams in her ears
January and June were the worst of enemies,
living and fighting and warring in me.