That year we all fell apart. That year we didn’t know how to possibly pull the next breath from our tired lungs. That year that grief sank its claws in deep and didn’t let go. That year we accumulated closets full of shame. That year we felt insignificant. That year we hurt indefinitely.
That year we walked to the edge of the world but didn’t jump. That year is over now.
This year, we take impeccable care of each other and ourselves. This year, we are too much, too loud, too hopeful. This year, no matter the size of the hole that life drilled through our hearts, we choose not to live small.
This year we resolve to let the hate burn itself out before it consumes any more of us. This year we love each other through the darkness.
This year, we wonder in awe at how we still somehow know the way home, even when the directions are gone and not even the sun is there to guide us.
This year we revisit past mistakes with tenderness and humility, knowing we did the best we could in that moment, even when our best seemed like the worst.
This year, we listen diligently to each other through sobs of “I’m sorry, I know this is heavy,” because there is no need for apologies.
This year, we do not chop, minimize or strip any part of ourselves to make us more palatable for those with weak mouths.
This wear we sob loudly and quietly, and whichever other way we need to, to heal. This year we fling our fists at fear and tell it that is doesn’t belong here with us.
This year, we recognize every tiny spark of joy and how huge it actually is. This year, we pull bravery out from every crevice of our bodies and we let it lead the way. This year, we love ruthlessly, with conviction and purpose.
This year, we practice outlandish, irrational, and inconvenient goodness because that is what we crave and that is what we are made of. This year, we are kind and loving, but we take no shit.