I didn’t ring in the New Year this time. I watched from a distance, orbiting the world with a detached co-pilot. It was horrible, really. One of us wanted to be alone and fairly I wanted to leave within twenty minutes. I probably would have pulled out if it hadn’t been pissing cold rain. They say you’ll spend any given year doing exactly what you are doing when the clock strikes midnight and that’s mostly true. It was all a pointless mistake. A miscalculation. All the red flags were there. Like fuck this. Stay home. Pretend none of it ever happened. Go to sleep and wake up later at some point when it’s all over. Maybe June.

Oh 2019, you are a strange bitch and we had our thing. We had our ups and downs. We had laughs and we had the other stuff. You showed me some shit, for sure, and no sense in lying; some of it was pretty damn good. The rest, well fuck it, we got by, didn’t we? It’s almost December and we seem to have come to an understanding. We sit on opposite sides of the room and I wouldn’t even call this thing platonic. It’s more like detente, but it’s all over now but the shouting. It’s cool.

You fucked me hard and I fucked back and when it’s time to go I will stand upright and walk out with your scratches up and down my back.

Fuck you, you’re a strange one. I think I love you, 2019, for what it’s worth but I’m not sticking around.

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