I think I'll wait another year

I’m not sure if I feel much like celebrating tonight,
I have nothing to sing about,
What is there to rejoice?
Looking back over the last year, 
I don’t know if there is anything even worth celebrating
Except that it’s finally ending. 

Between the weird and awkward fling that fizzled in January and February,
Almost dying in March,
Coping with almost dying for the months to follow,
& the ambiguity and heartache that has defined these past couple months on so many levels,
the only thing I really feel like doing is throwing up.
Everywhere. 

Summer was beautiful, 
October was magical, 
And then things started to die. 
Just as they always do 
And I always seem to forget 
That everything is fleeting
Nothing is permanent
No one knows what the hell is going on 
Or what they’re doing 
So it makes no sense to try to make sense of it all. 




The only thing we can do is try to be happy. 
(if only it was that easy)


still, we lift our glasses
and we share a toast
because the new year is coming, whether we like it or not
(whether we’re ready for it, or not):

here’s to the new year, 
here’s to fresh starts, 
here’s to trying to be happy, 
and aborting the bullshit, 
here’s to actually talking about our feelings for a change, 
and not simply jumping ship when it gets too hard, 
here’s to emotional maturity, 
here’s to decency,
here’s to not waiting around for other people to change, 
here’s to baking a cake for someone who actually wants it, 
here’s to falling in love with someone who can return the favor, 
here’s to finding someone who actually gives a shit about you,
and not settling for anything less, 

yes, 

here’s to not settling,

here’s to not looking back, 
here’s to resilience, 
here’s to stopping trying to change things that are out of my control—if they are going to happen, they will—only time will tell & and certainly not worth stressing over. 













(here’s to hoping you’ll prove me wrong, and here’s to second chances)


Here’s to my friends, 
Here’s to new beginnings,
And making it count. 



Fuck, here we go again.