It’s a new year.

2016 had it’s share of ups and downs. Some of us had it good. Most of us had it bad.

Nothing really changes at the turn of the year. Mostly the same, the morning after New Year’s Eve. Nothing dramatic. Nothing ground breaking.

But that isn’t what the new year is about.

It’s about hope. Every new year brings about hope that things will get better. Maybe they will. Maybe they won’t. Some of us don’t bother with hope. A lot of us drinks it in vociferously, mostly because it’s free.

We lost a lot of people. A lot of things. Some of us found faith. A lot of us stopped believing.

2017 may or may not be much different. But I highly doubt it’ll be exactly the same. So there’s no shame in hoping.

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“To absent friends, lost loves, old gods, and the season of mists; and may each and every one of us always give the devil his due.” – Hob Gadling to Morpheus in Neil Gaiman’s The Sandman, Vol. 4 – Season of Mists

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