And now let us believe in a long year that is given to us, new, untouched, full of things that have never been.

Closer towards January's uropygium - My love is both estranged & endangered

Acacia in her fragrance / somewhere I wish to lay amongst her rotting leaves / drenched in dejection with January's departure / incompetent & impotent ending to another erratic month / February: just bring me nothing / I expect it -

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.