This is what I want tonight, more than dinner, more than dessert.



I want a proclamation, a seal, not unlike the trophy graphic WordPress sent my way recently. This two year milestone is worth its own traditional gift. In the first year, instead of simply paper, you should receive letters. Handwritten sonnets of your redeeming graces.



Modernists claim it to be the time to gift a clock. In Poland, only lovers don’t wear watches. I only know this because as year one eased itself into year two, I stepped off land and listened to man with a collection of watches and an affinity for strawberry milkshakes.



Cotton is the recommendation for year two. Plenty of cotton crossed my path. I tried every fashion trend I could find searching for myself among the donations at Goodwill. If you listen well in the middle dressing room, you can hear lines from a poem while you contort out of an amazing dress that can’t possible be tagged properly.

I’m still searching.

I’m still searching for my body.




The end is not on repeat this year. Neither then, is the beginning.

Here is my toast, to jumping from the middle.



*My sincerest apologies for the lack of credit for the lines of poetry. The poem is locked away in a box across town and my feeble mind cannot seem to conjure up enough lines to find the poet. I guess google doesn’t know everything after all.

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