Lust For Lascaux

New Year’s Eve: A Ritual Recipe for Being Perfectly Alone

1 bloodbright dress 
2 bottles of champagne
3 written items (a letter, a list, a lust)
4 pieces in a beachbag: towel, slipdress, lighter, knife
5 hours ‘til.

At midnight, leave the overcrowded oversexed overdrunk bar for the gulf - without the man who kisses you.

Strip, bareassed by the halfmoon sea. Pop the champagne and drink. Make a small incision in your palm and mark each written item: Things you think you can’t live without, things you’re happy to be free of, remnants of the past you will let go now. Set them afire. Drink more champagne. Watch the ashes lift and smolder until nothing is left.

Toast to they who have gone - on and away.

Take a swim. First in the gulf, in honor. It’ll be cold, but it should be. Float, flip. Dig your toes into the coldcold sand while you stare at that darkanddistant line, at those stars, dripping diamonds onto your sweet head. 

Make peace. Take solace in those on other shores, in other seas, staring back at you.

Sleep alone. Wake up and go.