if this year were a book, it would be the kind without periods—just commas—where life kept running, often out of my hands. it’s been a tricky year, one that reminds you the worst might not be behind you, only to surprise you again.
and yet, here I am, a year older since I started posting here. I’m okay with growing older. “old” isn’t the strongest three-letter word I know, even with its heavy syllable at the end—there are worse ones. “die” frightens me more although my faith assures me it is not an end, but a whisper—a pause where life breathes differently, unseen.
I’ve had my share of bad times, and it feels like I have a chance to catch up on the good ones.
now it’s late-December again. it gets quieter—the good kind of quiet—and I want to linger in it, to live fully in it. because the world is always half-dark, always winter somewhere.
so, before we pack this season away in boxes, I just want to say thank you. this year has been incredibly special. o, and it’s snowing in Brooklyn. here’s snowfall.
cookie nieves 
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