New Year’s Madness

Here’s to another year of us.

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You told me to meet you at midnight, but I shouldn’t have believed you.

The martini glass in my hand, I move from room to room at a party I don’t even give a damn about. Your friends have never been my type — always talking about the latest trends from crypto to new apps — but I associate with them because you care about them. Some of the girls try to lure me into their circles; I take the time to apologize and say I’m looking for someone.

Of course I look so hopelessly lost and alone when you’re not around.

The clock inches closer to midnight — as if that one measure of time will make a difference in the grand scheme of the universe — and I wish I had last year’s optimism to chip away at this year’s melancholy frame.

The girls wear their sparkly dresses. The guys order drink after drink. This year’s greatest hits waft through every room to remind us of our collective bad taste. It’s the same every year.

I even wore my own sparkly dress — a red number to match my lipstick — but what’s the point if you’re not here to see me shine?

I don’t even have half a mind for the couples congregating for their annual liplocks as guys and girls — all combinations of them — ready themselves for the big moment. Me and you…