#78. to january the first

a letter

to january the first:
good morning, new Day. you are no different from yesterday, but we make you so. i'm sorry for the pressure, you and your successors needn't live up to all these. you would be glad to know that as far as expectations go, i have none for you. freewheel into our future, Day, as i go to sleep. take me where you fancy and leave me where you wish. 


as the birthday does, the new year too says: so far, so good. all is still well.

the first pre-dawn (remnants of 2012 darkness) eased into daylight and i watched this from the backseat of a taxi home. i stood barefoot on the ground outside our door to feel the cold under the soles of my feet. i forget sometimes how nice it is to be barefoot.

the first this, the first that, the first Tuesday, the first little (tasteless) cigar, the first thing i eat, the first person i talk to... i pity these firsts. for all the fuss, they afterwards don't mean any thing more than the seconds and thirds, and they end up forgotten or -- when embarrassing -- quickly purged from conscious thought.

meanwhile, the earth keeps going on,
and i am (still)
alive.