another year

“She sleepwalked from moment to moment, and whole months slipped by without memory, without bearing the faintest imprint of her conscious will.”
― Ian McEwan, The Comfort of Strangers

Another year has passed, now, and I’m trying to figure out the precise meaning of it. 

[Another year older, another year more jaded, more bitter, more…  these are what pragmatic minds might jump to. With such a mind, hope and optimism are things of youth- nearly synonymous with naivety; it seems a rather negative approach.]

{Another year wiser, another year closer (to goals, not death), another chance at _________...; this approach is too much the ‘ne’er say naught’ persona.}

This is how I think I must reconcile it:

The last year has really brought me into my own, if only mentally and emotionally. I finally know what I want and how I want it, and I am moving in that direction. Progress is being made, though enough progress there never was. If I could make a request for what this upcoming year leaves me with, it would be patience. And maybe some wisdom. It’s time to put the young man to rest.

To those of you who read this:

Thank you.

Simply for being there to read it.

For being.

                Viens avec moi?

Adonais