My brain has been a puddle of mush ever since Christmas Day. The liminal space between Christmas and New Year always sedates me into a mode so unresponsive. I like to think it’s my mind’s way of powering down to process the current year and harness energy for the new year on the horizon.
I spent NewYear’s Eve scoping out trips and goals, molding the upcoming year like a ball of clay in hand. The sun shined through my curtains when I woke, the world echoed deadening silence; streets were bare, shops closed. The first day of the new year is a day of quiet release as we loosen our remaining grip on the previous year.
In 2023, I lost and found who I’d meant to be all along. I wrote poetry for the first