Space

The roundness of that figure is almost upon us. All I can apathetically wonder amidst the scattered wishes, boxed and otherwise , is how to steal that hour of tranquility. Moments to reflect on all that I leave behind, as I (attempt to) go ahead and embrace all that I will soon abandon.

Every year deserves its fitting wake, burial and occasionally, a ghost from days past, when memory threatens to paint grey a shade of lighter pink.