Year of going for it, year of jumping in with both feet, year of cold feet panic attacks hard work harder than all the other years of hard work, I loved you, you, year, you.
You’ll always sit shining right near the top of the pile of years. That year I escaped my childhood, that year I met that boy, and that year I changed it all up and bought that building I couldn’t afford. Top three, right there.
Next year I’m gonna trust my heart and continue blocking out the world in the service of making my own world. Next year I’m gonna pet my cats more, I’m gonna do some goddamn yoga, I’m not going to make myself feel like shit for the unacceptable crime of not being 100% perfect all the time—and I’m gonna keep getting into fights and holding onto my anger and working myself to the bone and being so fucking awesome.
And I’m going to drink more water. That too.