Hey there, 2021. I love you. I just wanted you to know.
I ended 2020 with a multitude of letters to the year that had so much stacked against her. And I said then that, if I were to write a letter to you, 2021, it would let you know that I already anticipated you would be blamed for a laundry list of things. I wrote that, if I had my druthers, I would have entered your days anonymously so I could simply be there to catch your tears when troubles began to mount.
You breathed your first weary breath, and I ached for you.
Within moments of your arrival, I wrote these words to you:
It’s been nary a week, and I’m already writing to you with apologies for all the promises broken, all the curses made, all the disappointing glares you are receiving.
Like your sister 2020, we sat you at the…