New Year’s Eve arrives,
and suddenly
I believe I’m the kind of person
who wears sequins confidently
and drinks champagne
without consequences.
We count down
like magic is coming —
ten, nine, eight —
and yet
nothing changes
except the noise
and my blood alcohol level.
Midnight hits,
everyone kisses someone,
and I hug whoever’s nearest
because romance is optional
but human contact
is not.
By midnight
I’ve promised myself
a new body,
a new mindset,
a whole new life —
which is a lot to ask
from Tuesday.
New Year’s Eve glitter
is eternal.
I will find it
on my face,
in my sheets,
in my shoes,
and in my soul
until April.
New Year’s Day begins
with a hangover so deep
it feels
philosophical —
as if the universe
is vibrating
inside my skull.
By noon
I’ve broken
six resolutions,
two boundaries,
and my will to live.
January 1st
is simply
December 32nd
with better PR.
But fine —
cheers to another year.
May my resolutions
live longer
than my
champagne buzz.
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