Made in Bridgeman

To me, the New Year is a window. 

The faint reflection of your own face looks back — 

a little dusty, grime in the corners, perhaps even some light scratch marks. 

Standing at the window, you can stare at your reflection for as long as you wish — noticing tiny details, observing the way the glass remains intact around each small crack. Your eyes, bright, are beautiful among imperfections. 

And looking beyond the window, the view is endless — with possibility, imagination and the promise of all you cannot see.