Tuesday, January 1, 2008

"For last year's words belong to last year's language and next year's words await another voice.”

I could write about this day last year. I could tell you how different I am, how much I grew, about the hardships I conquered. But we all grow and we all overcome, and life continues to mold each one us into something different than we once were. It's no secret that 2007 had its less than ideal moments, and though I can only speak from my own experiences, I am certain that I am no isolated case.

Instead of reliving 2007, I'd rather write about the snow that christened January [2008], that spit and spun beneath the low-cast wintry clouds. It only fell and hovered momentarily in undulating waves whipped across the contrast of asphalt before melting. I'd rather note the morning, ablaze in golden sunlight that filtered in through bamboo blinds and fell like fresh sheets unfurled [on us].

I'd rather get lost in this irrepressible bliss.

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