resolution
The clock struck twelve,
but the world didn’t change—
no fireworks, no sudden clarity,
just you and me
sitting cross-legged on the carpet,
our hands sticky with spilled tea.
You laughed,
tilting your head back
like the stars might answer,
and I thought,
if this is what every year looks like,
I’ll be fine.
Copyright © Shay Storey | Year Posted 2025
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