This year one thought has seemed to linger. If this was my last year, my last shot, one last time around; what would I do? What would I do differently? What would I change, tolerate, experience? One more. Right? That was the deal. One more. One more day. That’s what I said. That’s what I wrote. That’s what I promised to myself under a blanket shivering in my solitude. I can do one more. One more year? 

To take a chance on destiny. A few more calculated risks. I can give myself a chance at happiness. This time around carefully I will measure my steps. Not to avoid mistakes this time, but to actually give myself an opportunity to live as I really want to live. To live. What a foreign thought. One more. I can make it count. Please let it matter. Please let my life be a love letter to the Universe and each part of the whole. Guilt; my friend. Where do you resolve? In between my selfishness to matter or my selfishness saying nothing matters at all? Maybe you never truly leave. But let yourself sleep, while I count my reasons and try one more time.