no resolutions.


he didn’t bother making any resolutions in the new year. sure, there was plenty he could do. he could work out more, sleep less, eat better, be more confident, be nicer, forgive and forget, fitter happier more productive, etc. but he didn’t. he was older now, and he realized that resolutions were as pointless as other things in life that wouldn’t come true. things like birthday wishes and pipe dreams. saying that he was going to be a better, happier person in the new year was just as stupid as the usual drunk talk he had with friends about opening a bar.

there was that thing, though. that time he spent with the neighborhood children, and he couldn’t be sure if it was something he had just dreamed up, or if it had really happened. it was just a carefree night of hide-and-seek in the dark, or maybe it was flashlight tag, and it was his greatest childhood memory. how sad that the best memory he had of being a kid was spent with other kids he didn’t even know. he had to leave early that night, and everyone was sad to see him go. he waved goodbye to these children, his heart sank, and he went back to his private school life, leaving the public school kids behind. he didn’t know it then - well, maybe he did - but he loved those public school strangers. they treated him like a brother.

he spent his whole life looking again to relive that connection, to relive that fleeting moment of true brotherhood. there were black kids, asian kids, white kids, a tall white girl with crooked bangs and a ponytail. the girl in a flannel shirt who smiled with a backdrop of sunset and suburbia. the kind of girl he dreamed about in an innocent way. they’d just be playing genesis at his aunt’s house, or else sitting at a picnic table, and her hand would slip into his. when he awoke, he’d try his best to fall asleep again, to prolong the dream, but it never worked. still, those few blissful seconds of r.e.m. could lift his spirits for weeks.

what was he trying to prove? was this any way to go through life, looking for something that might never have been real in the first place? he didn’t want those private school memories anymore. they were useless and dead to him. they were just endless of days of red, and later, navy sweaters, white polo shirts, feelings of inadequacy, feelings of alienation. why did he live his life like that, full of frustration and sadness and boredom? why didn’t he put up a fight, and years later, why couldn’t he just let it all go?

letting go was the hard part. he was quite comfortable with his flat screen tv and his netflix queue and his endless hours of videogameviolenceporn. he was lazy as shit, and he thought the world found this unacceptable, even though the world wasn’t watching. the world was too self-involved with its warming and wars and financial woes. still, he foolishly convinced himself that the world was watching (it wasn’t), and ultimately, he was torn between trying to find something he loved and giving up.

so, he went to job interviews, and he visited college campuses . he went to bars, and he made an online dating profile. he kept in mind, though, that none of it really mattered. truly, none of it. he didn’t love anything but himself, and the thing he searched for was only a lie, the biggest lie, something to fill the void, to pass the time between now and the next year, yet another, sans resolutions.

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