À Nouveau

I lost myself within the collective countdown to a new year, intoxicated enough to think thoughts like “why are humans so stupid? who cares about another year passing?” and all that.

I was so happy with where I was in life. I had let go of many things and held on to the more important ones, met amazing people, made dear friends. I noticed the froth on the sides of my beer glass. Amateur pouring, someone had once taught me. There was so much that was wrong with the world, so many bags heavy with emotions that we would all unenthusiastically carry into another 365 days of oxymoronic existence. Some of us would grow, some would fall only to get up, but all of us would live.

Not literally, although I wish with all my heart that that is the case, but metaphorically. In stories, told by people, animals, places, memories and things. Like the froth holding on to the rim of the glass, making a point, not always given importance though. Just there, as memorabilia of something or someone that once ceased to be.

And that is all that matters.

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