In which the time has come for Twenty-Fifteen and I to break up with each other. By which I mean, I’m breaking up with Twenty-Fifteen.

Dear Twenty-Fifteen

579 words about life — 13:00 · 31st Dec 2015

Dear 2015,

I don’t really know how to start this so I’ll just get right to the point; It’s not you, it’s me. And by that I mean, it’s you.

Phew, I feel so much better now that that’s out of the way.

But I suppose I owe you an explanation.

I mean, after all, we had a good run.

It wasn’t all bad.

You were a bit impatient at times, running at a pace I had trouble keeping up with and I tried to see past it but in the end I feel like there just wasn’t enough time for us.

At first we were both pretty excited and looking forward to all the things we would do together, like going to France—but that’s unlikely to happen any time soon—or all the crisp bread we were going to bake together.

I mean we certainly did some things together. But was it enough? This letter says, “No.”

Where’s my crisp bread?

Hey, no, don’t do that.

Don’t cry.

We had some good times too, remember that time we pretened it was 1943 for a month? Yeah, that was strange and interesting.

You even encouraged me to get new glasses and when I had my doubts you took your time, calmed me down and ensured that I was confident about my choice before buying them. I think we’re both happy with the end result.

But here’s the thing. We all change. Well, I’ve changed at least. I’m not the man I once was. And it’s for the better. Well, for me anyway.

Don’t tell me you’re surprised. You really should have seen this coming. Between me spending half our time together getting a sleeve tattoo and the other half exercising and becoming healthier, I’ve been growing a lot in this past year.

Not to mention, doing public speaking and becoming a published writer in net magazine. I just feel like I’ve changed a lot and you haven’t.

Well that’s not entirely true, you’ve gotten older, which I don’t mind, but that hardly seems like an accomplishment.

There is nothing permanent except change. Heraclitus

And I would say, “We’ll always have Paris,” but… well… you know.

Instead, we’ll always have that time I dressed up like Hitler, which is perhaps not quite the city of love but more like the alley of offensiveness.

Now I’m sure you’re thinking, “This is why he didn’t give me a Christmas present, he knew he was breaking up with me,” but let me assure you that it isn’t why.

I didn’t get you a Christmas present because I bought myself an Xbox One instead.

And before you ask, no I’m not seeing anyone new. I know you stopped by the other day and things got a little awkward with you and Twenty-Sixteen but I promise you nothing is going on with him.

We’re just friends.

But, ummm, please don’t show up unannounced like that again because of, unrelated reasons.

P.S. I still want my favourite shirt back but you don’t have to wash it. Oh right, and a Happy New Year.

You’ve just read Dear Twenty-Fifteen.

In which, 8 years ago, I wrote 579 words about life and I covered topics, such as: year-in-review .