(new) year

Tomorrow I will wake and find that the tabloid magazines in the grocery store checkout aisle have lied.

"New year, new you..."

But the eyes looking back at mine in the mirror are the same.

Maybe it's not about this night, though, but the three-hundred-and-sixty-five others.

One of those "it's about the journey, not the destination," kinda things.

Congratulations, space rock. You've made your way around our star yet again.

I'd like to think that the girl at this checkpoint in space last year was different.

That she's since learned the difference between being alone and being lonely,

how to take up space, and hold her own, and cry a little.

That she's not afraid to say yes to the things that scare her in a good way,

and no to the people who aren't worth it.

I think she's still a little lost, but maybe she's made her peace with that.

Maybe it's enough to live for the little things,

and love a little recklessly,

and grin for no reason at all

as this rock sets out on another trip around our star.