Sometimes I wish I could stay here forever
—but that's not really true, is it?
It's New Year's Eve and I'm sitting in the house I grew up in, and despite being an early twenty-something, this is the first time I've really felt like an adult who's home for the holidays. It's strange; this entire time I've felt about sixteen.
The minutes keep on flying by. I stood sweating over the hot chocolate on the stove and thought about the logistics of living the rest of my life. Isn't it odd that the thoughts that need the most time end up coming to us on the shortest of moments? I could've sworn I spent forever at the stove. But the chocolate's all melted and the pot is cooling and I need to pour it all out. I hope this next year is a good one.