mad dash to the end

We clock our lives in years. How many revolutions we’ve collected. We grade them that way too. Good year. Bad year. The black and white of it all.

time seems to gain gravity as a year comes to a close. Faster and faster. More obligations forced within ever smaller spaces. So much to do. So much to get done.

It suits a narrative structure, I suppose. Neatly packaged periods. Clear lines. Chapter breaks.

I’m trying to forget about it. “Trying” being the key word. I’d like to stop dragging the past behind me, heavy as a chain, all those judgements.

Because they’re ALL in here, aren’t they? All the years. They’re how I got now. Bouncing back and forth yet

all roads lead to here

the time we have. The time we waste and love and break and fold and crush and carry, next year this year that year old year

happy new year