jst two months left, only a few weeks standing between now and another year. memories start to pile up, like tryin to pack too much into a box dat refuses to close. some thgs we’ll leave behind, others we cant bear to part wit, and still others we’ll press quietly into ourselves, hidden deep like petals between pages. maybe we tot we'd be somewhere else by now, or that flipping the calendar wld somehow reset thgs, bringing somethg new wit each season. but here we r, finding dat every January carries the familiar weight of the last.
yet, there’s somethg beautiful in dat quiet realization: time isnt here to fix us - it’s here to let us keep moving. we r not racing toward January; we r filling it, bit by bit, wit all the parts of us dat hav been gathered, let go, or held too tight.
the year’s turning reminds us dat we’re soft at the center, unfinished - and maybe dat’s exactly the point. we dun have to arrive in one perfect piece; we only need to keep moving forward. time isnt here to pin us down but to add depth, to color our journey a lil more wit each day. let January, February, and March come, carrying the parts of us dat hav learned, grown, and, most of all, cont'd.
and when the next year arrives, we’ll be ready. we’ll knw dat our past years, all those previous versions of ourselves, r not lost.
they’re held close, a story dat only we can tell.
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