It is ten at night, and now, all is said and done. Everything I had to say to anyone else has already been said, and the things I did not say, I shall keep tucked under my tongue and eventually direct them to my heart with the risk of them making it heavier. Secrets, after all, are suitable for little else. But besides that footnote of a detail, besides those words only worth being in a margin under an asterisk, this day has served as a crescendo to the entire year. I wanted to live a day as close to perfect as possible, so I hatched a plan earlier this morning. I would do everything I expected from an ideal day, and I would clean the house and do the dishes on time. I would lie down for most of it—hopefully, under the sun, but if the sun did not show, then in the artificial warmth of a quilt and some jazz scoring the scene.
The sun did show, and I lay under a brilliant piece of light falling in the right place on the lounger, turning the pedestrian blue into a regal green. On the throne, I lay for the entirety of the evening, some coffee and a book accompanying me, of course. Then, I went out for a walk despite having exercised earlier in the morning, and now, I am ready to end it before the world begins counting the seconds down. Of course, many days this year were far from ideal. At least, they were a far cry from the day today. Now, I sit here and write this soft conclusion for no particular reason besides the quiet joy in my heart. I can only imagine with the wild courage of a flower which tries to grow from between the cement blocks on a mossy sidewalk, I will be able to grow how I want to grow when the time arrives, that the year that comes, that the life that comes will carry with it the scent of satisfaction. I believe I have always said I am utterly and completely fine with any ending for this life and story, but sometimes, I dream and dread alike the many possibilities.
These days that end and begin are just arbitrary ticks in the pointless chart of life, and there is no reason to expect anything different simply because a number changes on the calendar.
And yet, there is a whiff of hope in the air mixed with the lavender I sprayed earlier today.