The magic of anniversaries is that while they clearly mark the passage of time, sometimes they simply indicate that nothing ever really changes. I feel like I have spent the last twelve months in a goldfish bowl looking out through the welcomed safety glass, acknowledging events as they pass along but removed from their true experience or effect. All of us have shared this incongruity, unholy state of singularity, enforced, undesired, oft destructive conditioning.
Effectively all events, happenstances, have become particularly vital, memorable, imprinted upon our genes indelibly, to coerce the foundations of all beliefs and pursuits. The taste of every moment lingers unwholesomely, to be chewed in constancy till nothing should remain, yet the flavor continues to taint, maligning present and future, shaping what had seemed the preamble to constructive accomplishment into quite disappointing and increasingly twisted castings.
The next year will be a revelation, either in uniqueness or banal continuance.