Christmas

On this particular eve while I anxiously fastened my eyelids and tap my feet simultaneously to the sound of spirited engines outside my window, I find my merry thoughts suddenly begin to disfigure themselves. The time capsule fixed inside my brain begins to bring me back to a feeling I had became familiar with about 4 years ago to this day, or eve. It had been obvious to me for a while that the spirit of Christmas was slowly dieing inside of me as the years passed, and that there was not much I could do about it. I think about cherished companionship that have been plucked from my life like pieces of a complicated puzzle. Disappeared, along with ones I can no longer love, are spirits I no longer believe in and a sense of meaninglessness for holidays. Medicating myself with Egg Nog and sugar cookies, I attempt to disguise my self regret for ever believing in something as silly as a man shoving his gianormous body down a chimney that I didn’t even have. I consider lecturing my mother for lying to me for half of my life, but visualizing a bitter 19 year old whining to her more then likely confused mother seems pointless at the least. So why am I so bitter? I can’t really hold a grudge against my poor mother for doing the only thing that she knew. Well it’s 2:30 in the morning and still I sit pattering my foot against my computer chair, waiting for some kind of feeling of satisfaction to burst inside of me. So again, I will await morning, where my mind will be eased and the beaming faces of my relationships that I still have grasp of, will fill my heart with a different type of spirit that I long for tonight.