What is March to me is a far better question than who is March? Do I know march and how do I know march are even better questions and quite frankly I can’t answer the later duo, simply because I do not know the answers to them. March is an enigma to me, a bewildering and mind blowing puzzle. The truth is that she never existed and if she did her existence was more ethereal that the mirage in the mid-day sun. She exists and she doesn’t at the same time, She is and she is not at the same time, yet she persists like a ghost upon my memory, entangling me into the abysmal oblivion of not knowing who she is and why she came into my life and whether she came into my life at all or is it all nothing but the delusions of a deranged mind?
Any story or any sentence about March must be abstract and shall only be abstract not because I intent to protect the identity of an otherwise domineering public presence from stigma but because she is as elusive to me as she is to you by these abstract words. Her existence for me is just as abstract and doubtful. There are times I scrutinize my sanity for what had happened that fateful day when destiny played the tune of fate going rogue.
I saw her, her eyes pierced into mine like the splinters from a shattered shell. Hungry for vengeance they struck me deep and painfully in the depths of my tattered heart. I cried in unheard agony when the heavens itself must have turned deaf that day. Then she smiled at me her smile spreading inside my body like death upon a famished being and bestowing me with a warmness of the ultimate awareness. Alas disappointment again waits for me, the most peaceful of seconds ceased to exist soon enough as all good things. She came and she went in a fragment of time that was far too small that between dream and reality the lines began to blur.
The truth is that I do not know whether I had lived through March or not, I do not know whether March is an enigma or a truth like the lives under the sun. But what march was and what I know March to be, is that march is the beacon of light from a domain unknown that signaled to me that all is not lost and life is yet to exist. March showed me in the twilight between life and death, between despair and hope, between dream and reality that my destiny is yet to be written and my gardens of love are yet to see the spring.