January 1

I lay on my bed reflecting on the year that has been. Fragments of memories float by. Memories of physical pain, unanswered texts, sun-kissed skin, mental fog, loud music and laser beams, conversations that spark, the heat of dancing with another. And all I feel about it all is gratitude.

I first had this thought after a night out with some friends. Gratitude is often found in hindsight. A terrible notion, because it can be found at will, all I had to do was look. 

So much of my life has been spent living in the third person. It’s only in quiet moments to myself do I finally feel what I was supposed to. It’s 8PM and even this piece I’m writing feels late and hurried despite it being the beginning of something new. 

Might be late, but fuck it, I’m here.