it’s a new year and it doesn’t feel real. two nights ago, i scrolled through my phone while slowly melting into the mellowing of 2 cbd gummies to see what what i was doing at the beginning of last year. where was i, what was i doing, what was the mood, did i look different? i scroll back through what feels like thousands of photos and when i arrive at january 2022- i look at the photos with the feeling that i am an outsider looking into a stranger’s life. on new year’s day last year, i made two toned croissants with black cocoa, i apparently spent time reading lisa taddeo’s book, animal, cleo napped at the foot the bed, i made a stew- maybe it was for a late lunch or maybe it was for an early dinner. i imagine the house smelled cosy and warm. i imagine we felt like we were untouchable in this safe little cocoon that smelled like softened onions and warmed butter. i imagine we felt like we were starting the year luckier than most.
© 2024 Ethaney Lee
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