4 hours left.
I've always written on New Years, retrospectively. I want to remember who I was with last year at this time, nibbling carrot sticks in some dining room in Watertown. I remember the sweater I was wearing, the champagne flying across the room, and feeling older than I really was. I remember the snow on the ground, and the ice on the steps. I remember going home, driving home in spite of the ice and the cold.
If we're being retrospective, I owe more apologies than I have fingers to count with. I wish I could whistle. I wish I could send today's warmth into the hearts of all those I care about. As if it would fix them, fix us, or just make them smile.
I still hate doing the dishes. That hasn't changed. I've just had more alone time to think about it.
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