I will not leave you in 2015 like you’re just some part of my past, like tomorrow isn’t just another day. Perhaps you wish I would, but let me tell you something. It’s not my fault that you said the things you did, or acted the way you did, or let me fall the way you did. It’s not my fault that you broke down my walls and then ran away frightened at the intensity of what lies within me. I’m sorry you weren’t ready. I’m sorry I can’t let go. But what use is there in pretending that 2016 will be any different? Tearing down a calendar doesn’t erase you. January 1 doesn’t change me. I’ve never had that kind of resolve.