Dear 2011,

I just wanted to take a few minutes today, on the day of our breakup, to talk about what happened between us over the last year. First of all, and I know this has been said before, it’s not you, it’s me that had to leave and you really didn’t do anything wrong. Except for your nickname, “twenty-eleven” – I really hope that doesn’t stick with 2012.

Thanks for living up to what my expectations were – “the best year ever” and so with that, I have a strong feeling your successor will do the same.

You were filled with beginnings (new lease, new job, some love) and endings (school, some love) hellos (everyone I met) and goodbyes (everyone I failed to meet again) but really what sticks with me is the joie de vivre we shared this year. Mornings with you, 2011, were a coffee scented breeze, a warm blanket, a half-hidden smile. You were not a cold tile floor, you were lovely and welcoming.

This means a lot, you know, because the way you start your day, well, that’s huge. Just like the way you end your day, letting your thoughts wander into everything and nothing, all the same. I have no regrets about you, 2011, not even the boy Dad said I shouldn’t kiss, or the one I know I don’t miss anymore or the time I pierced my nose again.

I won’t forget you — but I won’t be back.

Love,
Mel