irresolute
I suppose it’s cowardly, but I’ve spent the last week and a half hiding away, trying not to see anyone. I always do this when New Year’s is folded away in a drawer for next year, and everyone is holding out their resolutions like shiny new 2009 pennies, because I don’t want to be asked if I’ve made any New Year’s resolutions.
I don’t know how to really tell people I’d rather make my changes as they came to me, instead of waiting for the beginning of a new year. That instead of making resulotions to do things I should already have done, I want to come into this year looking for happiness around the corner like the bones of a discarded piano in a snowy alley, like a red flower in a cup on the windowsill looking all confused at being the only living plant it can see, like Martin coming home with his face all cold bringing me stories to hurry on my self-imposed exile. I don’t know how to explain that when February comes, and they’ve forgotten that they resolved anything, I’ll still be laughing my way through a leap in the dark.
I think it’s probably safe to come out now, but I’m waiting a little longer, shooting irresolute glances at the door and still mostly content to be curled up at the window in the evenings, reading, painting, trying to hide a mischievous smile at the thought of the things that could happen in the future.