on a New Year

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I understand zero of what I whisper in my own ear. I hear different languages on my tongue. I have to stop at stop lights and ask myself, what life is this? I live like an Alp in my dreams and weave these riddles I have no intention of answering. I despise riddles and I despise fairy tales or folklore disguised as real life.

In the mornings I walk because I have more space in this life than I know what to do with. Moving my legs makes me feel like I’m doing something about everything. I crisscross street corners dripping in memories from a life I remember living, but they belong to a girl I don’t know anymore. The lemonade is sweeter and the coffee is stronger here.

My mother sleeps with one window open. I learned a long time ago to not ask questions of things that ask a lot of us. I heard once on television, god never gives you more than you can handle. I changed the channel. We ran out of bubble wrap.

Everyone keeps speaking to me on the newness of a new year. I always find myself surprised to wake up in the same bed with the same familiar hangover. I think sometimes we believe we are going to be different people. I do not think so anymore. But I have learned everything can alter us and take us to a place we only recognize because people tell us we were once there. The street corners become more of a rerun than before, the season is a memory, things feel new, and there are first times again.

I once wondered who she would be and now I am her and she is still me.

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