The past with plan
As years pass, each new year seems to move faster and roll over quicker than the last. Every year, I go into January 1st with a plan. A plan to not just sit and hang on to the good memories of the previous years, but to actually spend time attempting to make more, better memories than before. But, just as quick as I plan for this, I fail. I fail because every year I look at the pictures I've taken, and the people I knew, and I binge on the happiness I see on my past self's face. The more I binge, the drunker I get, and the further I feel from that person staring back at me in the pictures. Soon I can feel the weight of the happiness I once had, almost as if it soaked in blubber and attached to my skin. Every year, it grows, yet every year, I have a plan.