Here we are again. The starting line of every lie and heartache, every laughter and delight. Maybe this time, maybe, it'll all work out. Maybe I'd catch you in a coffee shop again and maybe this time, things would turn out great. Maybe we'd all fall in, maybe we'd run away to catch a glimpse of the horizon during sunrise and share our morning coffees together, everyday for the next 365 days, and everything will go as planned. Maybe this time, I'd get what I've always wanted. Maybe I'd leave it all behind. Maybe I'd let go eventually. Maybe I'd move on. Or maybe a new year wouldn't make much a difference.
Thank you for all the happiness you've brought onto me, for all the sadness you've given upon me, for every little heartache you've sent to me, for all those empty promises that have been broken, and for all the foolish dreams that never came true. You've been good, and I couldn't have asked for a better twenty-twelve. Now off you go, back into the forgotten.