"Christmas Day"

Everything is closed on Christmas. My shoes make muffled, percussive sounds on the pavement. I don't know where I'm going. I try not to step on the cracks.

I end up at this old theater that only plays one movie. I think maybe this is where all the people are, but I don't go inside.

It's been a few Christmases since I last saw you. The holidays have a way of making people resent being alone. It feels too obvious to wish you were here.

I saw something beautiful yesterday, but today it doesn't seem worth mentioning.

Recently I went to a new place with an old friend. We both thought it seemed familiar, though we were sure we'd never been before. That happens sometimes with childhood friends. We took some pictures and looked around, but in the end we didn't stay long.

They keep saying it's seasonably warm, and I wonder what it is about humans that makes us so uneasy when it's warm in December. The rest of the year we pray for this weather, but today we feel guilty for not wearing a coat.

You never liked winter much but the cold makes me think of you anyway. You had these black and white boots with red laces that you never untied. They were snow boots but you liked to wear them in the rain. They'll get ruined, I said. They're just boots, you said.

I forgot I was walking and now I'm almost back home. Everything moves in circles. I know the house isn't the same without you, except that today it feels like the only thing that hasn't changed.

When I was little Christmas was my favorite holiday, even though it wasn't supposed to be. I've stopped feeling guilty for things like that. Today we're having a barbecue because it's seventy-five degrees in December. 

Reviews

[Writer at last! Sky ~]

While reading those lines, I can really imagine the pictures in front of my eyes specially those of "ou had these black and white boots with red laces that you never untied. They were snow boots but you liked to wear them in the rain." Very nice piece of work! I really enjoyed the read. "it's seventy-five degrees in December."