January

the month that drags like feet on a floor

On December 31st, my friends and I moved the last of my things out from my old apartment. I woke up that morning in my best friend’s bed to the lulling rhythm of cars passing along the road outside the window, but under the sheets of this soft quiet, I started to weep at the surrounding newness, knowing that today I’d stay up until 12 am to signify the end of the year and a version of my life tethered to the past. How I longed to stay there just a little longer, like a stagnant boat docked in a harbour, soothed by the familiarity of thrashing waves and the illusory comfort of my own idleness. What does life look like after weathering the storm? I’d been so afraid at the thought of untying the fraying rope and its unravelling of a life that I’d gotten so used to. After my early morning catharsis and screaming Boy Genius in the empty apartment, I felt brave enough to roll out of bed with a headache and swollen eyes, ready to bus to my old apartment one last time.