We sat on the edge of the rock that jutted out over the forest below and gave view to the surrounding cove – celibacy looks good from up here, we laughed. And with the beers we didn’t have but desperately wished we did, we cheers’ed to things like, not falling for people who assume you’ve fallen for them, and the reality that the problem was never things ending but the relentless ability for people to bubble wrap you behind the assumption that there might be a small crack in your heart – even if the reality is that it was never affected. For several minutes we lied on our backs with the sun forcing it’s way through the clouds to rest on our bodies, we lifted our hands periodically to fist pump to things like, here’s to actually giving a shit, and tried to make our way through the history of the past couple months to see if there was actually anything we had done wrong, before coming to the conclusion that apparently giving a shit is its own kind of problematic. Before we left we cheers’ed to a new year, as though it is possible to lift up the remnants of January and early February and toss them to the side in an effort to start over – in an effort to walk away from things that always seem irreparably in the way.