Dear dates,

You always hold a precious sentiment in my heart. I remember you. You are significant and you are unimportant all in the same. You are mystical and enchanting, as sometimes, you’re all I can think about – you’re all consuming and raw. Sometimes, you hurt, dates. But other times, you run together and blend effortlessly, just like a river emptying into the ocean. You are seamless and beautiful, creating bigger pictures and enormous stories. Sometimes, weeks go by and before my very eyes, it’s already closing in on the end of February. How is this so, dates? How can you be so inscrutable?

I remember the tragedies, the heartbreak dates, with such ease. It’s second nature to think back on them and know what I was doing when it happened. Of the same token, I remember the joyous days, the celebrations and momentous occasions. The happiness and rowdy crowds, they’re heartwarming. You’re burned into my brain, into my thoughts. Each year, as an anniversary of one of you rolls around, I remember. I think back and recall all that you were: happy, sad, joyful, shocking, tragic.

March 11, 2005.

March 20th. 

November 7, 2011.

April 15th. 

August 7, 2013. 

October 11th.

September 11, 2001.

November 12, 2011.

March 1, 2014. 

November 24th. 

December 14, 2012.

October 7, 2014. 

November 25th.

December 19, 2014.

December 25th. 

But what about the ones of you that aren’t momentous or tragic? What about the mundane-ness of your ordinary, run-of-the-mill? Those of you pass me by without a second glance, and I oftentimes find myself wishing you away, dates. I get so centered on a significant one of you and that’s all my mind lets in. It wants so badly to just get to one of you, that I lose track of so many others that you pour out at my fingertips. You’re there for the taking, but it’s really up to me to grab ahold of you and make the most of you, isn’t it, dates? I know the answer to that, it’s a resounding yes.

Just because you may not be momentous in some way, shape, or form, it doesn’t mean that you’re lost in the crowd, dates. In my current phase of life, today, I’m really working on making the most of you, especially the more ordinary and bland yous. The ones of you that are otherwise fleeting, leaving behind no footprint or trace of extraordinary. I’m striving to find beauty in you especially on those of you that are in need of a little elbow grease, allowing your shine to really blind me and everyone in your path. It’s making the most of you even if it means just stopping to smell the roses, breathe in your freshness, and admire your new, because there are so many of you. You happen 365 times in one year. And the following year? You just keep going. Dates, I think you’re more unique than snowflakes. I can’t live the same you over and over again. Not even once is this possible. Each one of you is so different, so bountiful in what you hold.

You are long and you are short, all at the same time. Some of you hold the mystique of lasting a lifetime whereas others of you feel only existent long enough to simply acknowledge your presence. Why is this, dates? Sometimes, you’re confusing. But nonetheless, you are reliable. I want to thank you for that, for being dependable in the midst of chaos and long-standing to-do’s and appointments. Not only that, but you’re there for everyone. Whoa, dates. That’s seriously impressive. Let me in on your secret and I promise to be BFFs for life.

This year, the year of 2015, I am working on a project with you, dates. For every one of you that happens upon me ending in two thousand fifteen, I am capturing a simple snapshot to remind me of you, to make me focus on your beauty and all of your ins and outs. Because you are precious, and that’s what I’m focusing on. Whether you remind me of a tragedy and make me sad or you are simply waving hello in a fleeting one of you, you’re important. It is not my want to overlook you, but sometimes I can’t help myself. Will you forgive me, dates? You are filled to the brim with things to be done for myself and for other people, that you are gone far too soon. And then, before I know it, seven of your brothers and sisters have come and gone as well, and then it’s another week. I can never get you back, but I see you again the next dawn. Such a weird and crazy relationship, wouldn’t you say, dates?

Some people forget you, dates. Some people just can’t remember you, no matter how hard they try. Some of them are diseased and do not understand your meaning any longer, and some of them simply don’t care. It is my wish that all who are able are moved to breathe in your majestic presence, to be awestruck and mesmerized by your glory. Because you are, dates, you’re glorious. The ordinary yous and the momentous yous, you are all one in the same, repetitive and new together. You are a series of events, and even now, in my 26th year, thinking back on my life are so many of you. You make up who I am and what I’ve learned.

You, dates, are something that nothing else can be compared. Thank you for being you, and for allowing me the joy of meeting you each and every morning. For the memories, for the tears, for the routine, for the troubled ones of you, I’m thankful. And I’ll see you again soon.

Sincerely,
Brianna

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