But the end of the year is nearing, and no good will an old self do. So I must pack up right quick, and go into the closet too. Only then, next of year, will I go searching in that dark closet, tapping the walls and sliding the cupboards, looking for who or what I was for the latter year. For a glimpse of what I had been, to remind my longing soul of what not to be, and what should no longer bring tears to me.