To the Year that Was. And Wasn’t. And the Year that Could Be

At the outset, you never lied to me, so I can respect that. You were the Storm and you let me know it even before the edges of the dying calender on my table could curve forward in ecstatic eagerness of your arrival.

You were the Storm. And you let me know it. Not with your silence. Not with the onset of turbulent clouds latching onto each other like ash from a volcano embracing its long awaited release. And not from cursory advances that I would otherwise make nothing of. There were no warning signs.

You were the Storm. And you let me know it.

Like a poor magician you pulled the cloth out of the table, leaving the crockery to crash; you wrenched the edgy floors right from under my jaded feet cocooned by a sole so worn out, I might as well have left it behind.

I could say you bruised me.

I could say you broke me in so many ways that I haven’t a clue how much I’ve recovered. How much I’ve put back. And how much of myself I have retained. I could coax you into a little foray, so we could jaunt through the miles you managed to etch onto the fogging windows of my sighing being. I could ask you how, you could teach me clemency despite the painful abandon with which you left me wanting.

But we both know there’s nothing to these musings.

So to the Year that Was, and you should know this, You Changed Me. What your predecessors couldn’t accomplish with their generous methods lost in meaningless cajoling, you succeeded in, by whipping me right to it. You gave me everything beautiful and showed me how wrong it was. You gave me everything honest and showed me how real I could be.

You gave me everything I asked for, and showed me how it was nothing I needed. You filled me up, right to the brink of breaking so I could burst right out of these aging walls I keep myself locked within. And as I burst out through self inflicted cages, you callously dangled every mask I ever wore and made it up to putty.

To the Year that Was, you never weren’t. There wasn’t a moment of your absence felt by me. Every day you were there, goading me with burning rods of so much growth and learning that every hour you left me behind in, I got closer to myself. You freed me.

And to the year that could be, what can I say?

I’m not afraid anymore.


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