have long been unconvinced by the New Year, New You notion. I'm an equinox baby, and consider September the thinking person's January: new pencil cases and golden light, rather than January's meagre offering of days that are grisly, short and somehow steeped in vague regret. The residue of Christmas lingers uninvited, like the last bundle of fairy lights that won't go back in the box.
SLEEPING BEAUTY
Jan 03, 2023
2 minutes
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