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Every Year Is Going to Be the One photo

A New Year’s resolution that I wasn’t going to do this anymore, soon broken.

A Valentine’s Day spent alone, while you were where you were supposed to be.

A summer weekend in the Hamptons, the beach house all to yourself. Me riding the Jitney, hand clenched around my phone to read the text asking me to come out, over and over.

A Labor Day picking you up at the airport. A cab is so impersonal, and I could take you back to my place.

Your birthday party that you said I could come to if I “knew how to behave,” the crowd big enough to offer cover. But this year has shown that I do not, in fact, know how to behave.

A season of holiday parties, someone else on your arm as gilded trays of champagne and hors d’oeuvres glide by. Me sitting alone on my sofa in my blingiest party dress, promising myself that next year will be the year I show resolve.