Approaching December 31st and a mind casts for meaning. It's been practicing now, reciting, in secret, all year, every year, for something. Something without a sense of being a thing, but rather a fracture of something. A moment perhaps. Good moments, sad moments, are mere moments, not indicators of the future. Nothing to count on.

A mind facing the meaningless magnificence of a new year.

Soon it will be the end of the year. Time will fold in half at the distant horizon and disappear. The past feeding into the horizon like paper through a shredder.

Feelings well up over time. What is missing feels surer than what is not. For years you try to link the dots and now you just think, let them be dots. Round and round they go, each one a world. Reclaiming yourself, you learn when to hope and learn when not to.