May your coming year be filled
with magic and dreams
and good madness.
I hope you read some fine books
and kiss someone who thinks you’re wonderful,
and don’t forget to make some art —
write or draw or build or sing
or live as only you can.
And I hope, somewhere in the next year,
you surprise yourself.
“Goddamn,” he kept saying, with this strange little faraway smile, “but you can’t die when you never even seen the ocean.” What a strange thing to say. Was that where we’d been headed all this time? And would that have been my want—to see the ocean? I couldn’t tell.