Success is liking yourself, liking what you do, and liking how you do it

Maybe January light will consume my heart with its cruel ray

I don’t think I was ever really that type of girl. I’ve always cared far too much about what I looked like and what I was wearing, and much too little about what people thought about me. I never really cared if I was the butt of the joke, as long as I could make them laugh. When you told me about the monsters in the dark, I went to check, not because I was afraid, but because I wanted an adventure. I loved pink and lace and ribbons and sparkles. I believed in magic. I wasn’t focused like you. I didn’t believe them when they said that would lead to the good life. I was always heading out off the path and looking for the ghosts and goblins you tried to warn me about. What’s a good life if not full of good stories?

January feels like a sweet burning itch, and I find my own marks on my skin.

January, is a starry purple hued bruise and looks like comforting and equally bewitching smiles of them, the ones who haunt me in my dreams.

For last year's words belong to last year's language and next year's words await another voice. And to make an end is to make a beginning.

It's a profoundly strange feeling, to stumble across someone whose desires are shaped so closely to your own, like reaching toward your reflection in a mirror and finding warm flesh under your fingertips. If you should ever be lucky enough to find that magical, fearful symmetry, I hope you're brave enough to grab it with both hands and not let go.