Thursday, 29 December 2011

Where the doors are moaning all day long, where the stairs are leaning from dusk 'till dawn, where the windows are breathing in the light...

...where the rooms are a collection of our lives...

In my two decades of life I don't recall feeling so much significance at the outro of a year. It seems an odd quirk of humanity to attach significance to a resetting of the 365-day count down to...the resetting of another 365-day countdown.

'Obviously' - you're thinking in exasperation - 'it's not just a countdown, not just resetting time. It's resetting you. It's that indefinable new lease on life which forgives you a year of self-inflicted disappointment.
It tares your lost chances and strike outs. It's hope and a fervent amalgam of good intentions built around apprehensive clasped hands and fierce whispers of 'it'll be better this year'.

And it's beautiful.

In its inherent dichotomous frailty and strength. Perfect in its ability to strip every shape, colour and creed down to a single hushed plea for it to be better, things to be different.


Happy new year everyone.

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