to love for the hope of it all

I love new starts. I love the beginning of the week, the beginning of a new month, of a new season, and most of all of a new year. Not because I expect to magically have my shit together for the first time overnight, but because it’s the ultimate symbol of hope. It’s starting again, a fresh slate, a new beginning. Into the next year I take with me the love I feel for myself, my friends, the city I live in and ‘abs’. Taking the time to reflect on my year just makes me glad that I tried new things, put myself out there, had experiences and just, lived. I lived this year. Nothing can ever take that away from me. I went out, made friends, learnt new things, read, traveled, laughed, cried, loved. I did all those things and more. 

I hope that ‘abs’ comes back from his travels with a clearer mind, and ideally wanting to be with me, but I’ll still be absolutely okay if he doesn’t. I adore him as a person, and want what is best for him no matter what, including if he is to return being sure of his feelings for another girl. I still don’t regret meeting, kissing, touching or loving him; I refuse to. I tried, and in the worst case, it just didn’t work – things can’t always work. I’ve wanted so much in the past that would not have been ideal for me, perhaps this is just one of those things, perhaps it’s not. Only time will tell.

I keep forgetting that I choose who I am and how I feel, and what I do with it. I want to be happy and radiate sunshine for my loved ones, friends and family. Nothing is stopping me from doing that but my own mindset and attitude towards life. A single pushback doesn’t define anything about me or my worth. I’m still me. I’m still far too trusting and open, perhaps far too loving and caring, and definitely a yapper, fun and optimistic about life. I’m me. That’s the feeling that’s been missing from my life this year, or rather a fact I keep forgetting – I don’t need to know my exact future or exactly who I am, I’m still just lil old me.