Merry Christmas

I guess a lot happened this year.

Wish I could find you, so I could tell you, Merry Christmas.
But that's over and done with now.

:) So what to say, what to say. Nothing really. Break time. Gonna eat lasagna for dinner. Watching korean dramas all day. Procrastinating.

Not thinking that much, but hey.

"I think we're done then," he says, and I nod. He walks out our door, my door, and I know this will be the last time he does it, with a part of me in his heart.

Of course he will come back. He needs his coffee mug, his sweaters. I'll let him have the microwave, we'll work something out for the tv. But the next time he comes, we will be different people, and that is the ache in my heart.

And with this, I know it is over. There was no yelling, because you only scream and fight when there is still something left to scream and fight for. We are hollow, carved out long ago with silver spoons, our innards used to make pumpkin pie and the like, sweets of the holidays. All made with love, our love - that's why it tasted so good on your tongue, and lasted so long on your thighs.

I sit in this apartment, and watch him walk away. Soon, I am at the window, counting his steps.

He is gone.

I am free.

And as he walks the eight blocks to his temporary abode, I run to you, I run as fast as he should have ran for me.

The farther you run away from the world, the closer you get to the beginning of time. I run from my center, my boy, to you, the mis...mis... the chance I missed all those years ago.

I run across the river, past the shops which glow, the fairy lights on the trees. I am thankful you chose to study so close to me, despite everything. Nothing is romantic when there is time to think. I almost laugh, at the idea of me, rushing to your side, on a train for three hours, then on a bus for another two. A step off romance is lack of common sense, and a moment too long is regret.

So I run, and follow an elderly man in with his dog, rather than buzzing in.

So easy it would be, to bring in a bomb, a gun, if this did not work out. I smile cynically, filing this thought away to comfort me if I needed it.

I am at your door. I knock, knock, knock, come to the door, stupid. There is sound, and I imagine all the things that I could have stumbled upon. My mind's ear hears the whispers of lovers, the slick sounds of love. You said you would wait, but I told you not to.

I wonder if you listened to me. It seems unlikely, but there is a first time for everything.

Like a child, I press my ear against the door. I could just make out the voices, the conversation, I'm listening, I'm listening.

Maybe this is a mis-

"Hey."

It's you. A little taller. A little thicker. Your face looks a little older. The look in your eyes, a little colder.

The snow dusting your hat and arms, just made you look cold.

"I...I think I made...I made..." My teeth clatter.

You look at me, waiting. I can finally say it:

"I made a mistake."

"I know." You hand me one of your grocery bags. It's filled with ornaments and candles. I see the star we picked out so many years ago.

You take out your key, open the door. The television is roaring, spitting sound and light into the dark apartment. I stand at the doorway and watch you shed your winter skin, and take in the home you made without me. You settle on the couch and leaf through your mail - I can tell you now, there are no letters from me. You stop abruptly, and look up at me.

"Aren't you going to come in?"

I smile, "I think I will."

It'd be a mistake if I didn't.


Merry Christmas.