I don’t want next year to be “the one”.
I also don’t want it to be “my year”, someone else can have it.
I would like to slip through 2024 quietly and unnoticed, to remain as lightly scuffed as possible.
An adequate, inconsequential, nothing-to-write-home-about 366 days (it’s a leap year, so already unsettling enough) would be just fine.
I like my years like I like my tea: with biscuits.
That’ll do for me.
