a girl's secret tale

The spice of cinnamon ginger tea stays close to my stomach instead of the knife I could twist just to take out the scars. Gingerbread crumbs scattered on the blanket, a little mess of that no longer feels sweet. We only had one Christmas for you, yet every year we yearn for the Christmas light market night, holding hands, us under the warm night of December. Christmas comes around again, I am still thinking about the yellow rose bouquet you left on my doorstep. The church bells and the choir start bustling through the city, but none of it is enough to quiet my mind from the echo of your name.

I wish we had never read the last page or closed the book. But here we are, finally on the last page. When you squeezed my hand three times, I knew it wouldn’t be easy.

There will be no cleaning glitter off the floor after Christmas dinner. There will be no jumping into that restaurant with the oddest name just because the decorations were enticing. There will be no dancing in the aisles of the supermarket. There will be no memories left to hold on to. There will be no us. There was never an us to begin with.

We’ve finally reached the last page of the last chapter. How desperately I wish there were more to read.

Please don’t ever become a stranger whose laugh I can’t recognise anywhere.

I carry my shoes down to the lobby with empty hands to offer. Hands painted cold, pale blue from the bruises of memories I still hold of you.

Please don’t ever become a stranger whose laugh I can’t recognise anywhere.

But we’re on the last page, and I’m lost and scared, and you’re turning away.

I know this is going to be a long road.

did you still celebrate the 25th of december? where the choir sings so loud and the street will get quiet, where someone always gets the lyrics wrong and everyone just nods like it’s fine.

maybe it rains there, maybe the road looks a little sad this time of year,  the tree must be dressed in green and red by now. The lights probably hit the wooden roof and make it look like a small feast for the old people who still love to dance.

The weather’s getting colder here, I curl up with hot chocolate and play that tiny christmas music box i love. My room feels a bit stuffy with all the ornaments i bought on sale,  i don’t even know why i bought that many. Maybe because it’s december.

I think i grew up a little, changed a little even the red i like isn’t bright anymore. it’s darker now…maybe maroon.

I don’t see you anymore. Idon’t hear about you either. But i’m sure you’re somewhere happier, somewhere soft.

I still remember your first christmas in summer how you jumped like a kid, how we sang carols even though we didn’t know the lyrics. I don’t know if you still celebrate it.