Emmanuel, the Common Thread.

The floor is empty. Every girl has packed her bags and headed out.

My floor is serene, my room is hushed, the halls are still. It is indeed a silent night.

I've been here before. This night is familiar. Last year, the floor, my room, the halls were the same. Everyone headed for Christmas, save me alone on the floor. But something is different about this territory. Last time I was here, it looked quiet different. The ground beneath my feet was lonely, afraid, confusing. And here, there is delight, joy, hope.

Two years. Two lands. One You.

You, Emmanuel, are the common thread, weaving the days of my journey.

Come. Here and now.

And with the words comes the startling recognition: You have.

On this floor, sitting with me in this room, wandering these halls with me, weaving a tapestry gazed only from eternity's side.