new year

I called it a year,

at your prodding

and here I stand again

empty handed

all those months that passed 

folded neatly 

buried in a diary

as the calendar turns. 

If only I could believe 

in a fresh beginning 

to a stale life

spray some perfume 

and convince myself 

everything is new.

If only
my hands were really empty
free from the burden
of moments I let go
mornings I never kissed
and nights that were
but a refuge.

Here I stand
a non-believer
trying to hide my sin
I just killed a year.

Saba