It hurts to remember the heels and the skirts and the eyes covered up with thick black lines and too little sleep and hanging on their every word for good or ill.
Santa Clause brought me home for Christmas but didn’t stay awake to meet me at the door. Growing pains snuck up on me like the cold weather and I wasn’t ready.
I woke up to find the necklace I gave you laying at my feet and Charlie Brown paying over and over on the TV and I wanted to walk out into the snow to get some space and remember my dreams.
I keep thinking about the kitchen I cleaned and the paintings I hung and the leaves I pressed and the silence of night and the cold of the day and that little apartment keeps playing through my head like Jingle Bells on the radio.
There are days I wonder if you were real, if you ever really existed. But then I look down and see how you have marked me. Yes, you were real and your tasted lingers on my tongue as I scrape the residue of your passing from the fringes of my heart.
The story I wanted to hear you refused to tell.
The more I think about you the more I remember. You are so far away. You are so far gone. And I am better for having known you and better for having left.
And I want to say goodbye to you, long little season. Because Christmas has come again and there is joy to even my world this time around. Goodbye to all the unfed hunger. Goodbye to all the tears you provoked. Goodbye to paying tribute to you with pieces of self. Goodbye to asking questions into the silence.
I’m going to go now. I will not think of you often, not intentionally at least. But sometimes, in the silence, I am certain you will surface again and I will remember how
a new year
has
come.
And I will be grateful again.
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