I wonder if I alone feel the urge to write even when I have no particular subject to write about. The simple act of making words bond and mingle on a once empty surface has such a magical dimension to it, allowing me – and whoever gives lonely letters the time of day – to partake in an exquisite game of sense and irremediable sensibility.
Here we are on the Eve of Christmas, garlands hanging and chestnuts roasting, snowmen melting and houses welcoming the briefly departed warm-hearted loved ones all aglow with the joy of reunions. I feel irremediably disoriented today, this is my first Christmas with no grandparents; I will not run this time, as I still could a few months ago, with arms wide open to embrace the fragile body of my ever-loving grandfather as he watches his home fill up with laughter. Tis strange to allow the emptiness to set in, as my memories comfortably replace my now vacant reality; how I miss the peace exuding from your souls, dear unforgotten, as you sit quietly observing the youth carry on. You’re here, still, somewhere beneath the tree, hiding in the halls and carefully crafted wreaths, forever effortlessly replenishing our hearts with tenderness and strength.
This Christmas feels alarmingly devoid of my beloved; both my brothers find themselves abroad, one working, the other engaging in long-awaited social gatherings, and I here, staring at the twinkling lights strewn all over the house. I’ve been through this desolate state before, ardently wishing we’d all find ourselves in each other’s company, by the emulated fire of modern heaters, sipping brandy and biting gingerbread men’s heads off their patented lifeless bodies. I wish, knowing wishes so rarely come true, I wish and I sigh, my heart adamantly blue.
However, this does not change the joyful verity that I am blessed with more than I would dare dream, I was given a home, a family and faith that someday this world would wholly know how it feels to stand under mistletoe and not worry about any war or foe. Peace on Earth will finally come, and the little boy shall play his drum for whoever lends a friendly ear, impatiently waiting for a better new year.