Lake Horse

clavicola:

This year I’ll make myself another promise that I’ll be better, that I’ll lose those ten pounds I gained when I was sad and indifferent. I’ll be kinder; flip more pennies face-up; be a masked vigilante in my own fucked-up reality. I’ll tell myself that this, this is the year. Now is the chance, the big change, my metamorphosis. I’ll peel off my cocoon and emerge with wings that span the eastern coast. I will become someone. Someone who writes thoughtful letters. Someone who spells anticlimactic correctly.

But we all know that it’s not true. So let’s make a toast to January 1st, to just another day for us to sleep in on. Here’s to making the same mistakes we made last year and to waking up as hungover as we were three hundred and sixty five days ago. Let’s all get smashed and bring in the year with a kiss and a good fuck, because by morning it won’t mean a damn thing. Let’s make our last mistakes before midnight sticks. We’ll vandalize each other’s hearts and burn down buildings with our kiss. Let’s light the world on fire, shall we? For old time’s sake, before next year comes along and we forget what it means to fall in love with the sacrilegious. 

Here’s your sparkly dress and your glittered stockings. Here’s the red lipstick you’ve been waiting three months to put on. Get yourself dolled up for another year of pit stains and shit stains and lachrymose goodbyes. Here’s to you, darling. Chin up. Keep your head held high. We’re all just a step closer to death. Cheers, cheers, cheers!