kolala

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On Christmas Eve, we baked the cookies built a gingerbread house and left cookies out for Santa.

Then words I wasn’t exactly ready for words. I hadn’t expected to hear, echoed through the house,

“open your gift now so the morning can be about the kids.“

My nerves stopped shooting signals for only half a second, before they began to fire, like restless men at wa

As I get older,

as wrinkles make themselves known on my skin,

as I learn,

as I forget,

as I grow,

and as I shrink,

my life will be spent more and more in the dark.

There won’t always be a tape spinning to capture my moments in time.

There won’t be a woman waiting in anticipation for me to claw my way through cardboard.

And it won’t be until Christmas Eve, when you baked cookies, when you spilled the gingerbread house, and when you’re finally let cookies out for Santa that you realize this.

But by then,

it would be too late to savour the moments that have already passed.

It would be too late to ask someone to remind you to relish Christmas mornings as a child.

It’d be too late to stare at the tree one last time,

when the morning was about you.

And just as it came, it’s over.

Like damn NOTHING gets done around here💔💔