I'm a year older.
I'll walk in the middle of the square and stand still for moment, thinking about how 365 days ago I was standing in this exact same spot.
That day feels so far away. The ones in between seem weightless. Still I remember living them as though they were incapacitating burdens that I would never shake off. I can't say when they gradually shifted into lightweight puffs of hours, minutes, and seconds and I can't remember when the days began to float off on currents of air.
But they did.
And today, here I am, a year older.