Dear Year 26,
I would ask you to be good to me but something tells me you have already gotten the message that this is the only thing I will accept. Something about getting older used to scare me, something about the year 26 used to scare me. Supposedly, after 25… there’s nothing to really celebrate. 26 means you’re over the hump. 26 means I missed the goal I set myself years ago.
Or used to.
In year 25, I conquered a few fears, and also urged you all to do the same.
I was nominated for the Black Weblog Awards, Three different categories.
And so much more…
26 means I have another year to be great. 26 means I am two years passed the age I predicated I would never get to. 26 means I am a little bit wiser and excuse me, as I toot my horn, this age looks so fucking good on me. As my best-friend Dee would say, this is the year of twenty-sexy.
I hope for this year to be full of laughs, smiles, and love. I pray that the experiences I am about to take on scare, push me to be a better me, and give things to learn about while I push through and conquer them. I hope this year I do not make the same mistakes.
Twenty-Six, twenty-sexy, you will be good to me. You will be everything to me.