Ten, nine, eight. When I was a child, I had to fight to stay awake just to watch the clock hit midnight and would yell out the numbers with my parents as we counted down the seconds. Seven, sex, five. When I got a little bit older, I’d spend the night with friends drinking sparkling grape juice and pretending to know what it was like to feel classy. Four, three, two. A few years later, when I was old enough to want to kiss someone on the mouth, I’d spend the last few moments of the year wishing I had someone near. One. You were the one last year.