Rather be a fool than leave myself behind...

Isn't it silly to worry about the arbitrary moment some person long dead declared to be the end of one year and the beginning of another, as if our attempts to divide time into meaningful chunks actually means anything. Yet still, I seem to always get so nostalgic when this time of year comes around. Did I do enough? Will it be the best year I ever had? And like a mockingjay, it seems I won't get my answer until the very end, waiting for the countdown to tell me it's okay to believe in myself again. And my moment will come. Things will happen the way I envision, or perhaps nothing at all like I do, but still. They will happen. They will happen to me.