Christmas.
That bittersweet word that plays on my mind every goddamn year. Some people love it, I don’t like the fact I still live around it. Like any other child, Christmas for me was the most magical time of all. The winter walks, the smell of fresh cinnamon and candy canes, the excitement in the pit of my stomach where I found it hard to sleep. I loved that.
But once you reach adulthood you soon realise that life is cruel and fairy tales are bullshit! And at twenty-one, that magic and belief were torn from my grasp and I suddenly wanted to be that little girl again.
December now means nothing. Christmas hurts. And the only coldness I feel is what’s congealed around my heart. Nothing would change, and no one could change it.
Then I met him.
The Promise of December
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