New year's eve has become considerably more bearable for me
since I gave up trying to pretend I belong somewhere.
Of course in fact I canâ€™t help belonging.
We all belong,
even those of us for whom it seems like we donâ€™t;
we belong to our not-belonging.
Might as well face it:
thereâ€™s no way out,
not even death will get you out of this one;
not for any reasonable meaning of the word â€œoutâ€.
There is no nothing,
thereâ€™s always something,
and us, stuck forever in our condition of something,
giving it everything in our attempts to
convince each other that some second of a year
is more meaningful than another one.
It all might sound a bit miserable,
but the thing to know is that I will be smiling
an almost priceless smile,
and wishing you all the love and happiness in the world,
when I tuck myself up,
in my comfy bed,
at 11 oâ€™clock.
Poetry by Andrew Bindon
Read 578 times
Written on 2015-01-01 at 10:07
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