because i've never realized until now, but my resolutions are the outline for a book that's always misplaced or miswritten, so coffee stained and battered that by the time the winds of december come to turn its pages, there isn't a single word to touch. because, instead of my novel or a chapter, i write myself an anthology. i title it regrets and feed it to the fire, burn away the past year and my chance at every single thing i could have learned.
but this year, before i sliced open the spine and tore out each and every syllable, i stopped. i read.
and, for once, these aren't regrets, but things i know i need to change.
ii. i will read the written word, plow through my stack of fifty cent paperbacks saved from library sales and stay awake reading instead of lying in bed at night staring at my wrists or counting the cranes pinned to my ceiling each morning.
iii. i will keep a journal, and write no less than once a week, at least five lines. and there will not be just sadness --i will write about love and exhilaration and small things, like good cups of coffee with good people i've yet to know and dusty flea market treasures.
iv. i will not be unrealistic. i will not demand of myself never to put my fingers down my throat again, or to never place a blade to my skin. i will simply ask that i try, and forgive when trying is not enough.
v. i will try to find closure. i will write letters and send them out to sea this may in the same waters where my sorrow grows. i will allow myself to cry until i feel i have let enough sadness out that, were i to swim then and there, i would not sink or want to.
vi. i will stop fearing life. i will stop fearing love. i will remember that if life is an ocean, it is for it's beauty, not it's depth. and that love is not an anchor, but a buoy if you let it be.