January, unbearably long and tiring. 
But days will pass and blend with one another,
Swamped with work and sometimes wishing there was more to do,
Maybe it's an act, maybe it's true.
One day and it's February, not that soul crushing.
You are doing better. 
You'd want to see what's next moving forward.
I hope you fight with your mother when you have a migraine,
I hope there's a holud ceremony playing item songs right beside your building.
When you look for the tufnil, you remember it stayed with me.
I hope you wonder if time has even passed yet.  

Shaerah Shamael Siddiqui is a poet hoping to find the right words for her pretty journals and ugly feelings.