Eve, is just like the others, I can’t help but hope with shaky conviction (almost
Everyone does) that this year will be different. I look different:
Evening gown to the floor for a much classier affair than last year,
Evergreen folds of velvet swaddling the curves of an ever-aging body.
Even so some things never change—the straightened hair, the mascara, and the
Everlasting fear that no matter how many resolutions we make nothing
Ever changes. Eat an apple a day, look good naked, keep him coming back for more;
Every year it is something new to lend some meaning to the
Event. I don’t really know what I want and so I cling to ritual, there with
Everybody else. I wonder where we get this magical idea, the notion that we could be better, but
Eventually I drop it, along with that big shiny ball, and warmly wish everyone a Happy New Year’s
Eve.
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