I Am Lonely
Hot black coffee scalds my lips as I find my way back to my armchair in the front room. The only light is that from the tree set up in the corner. The warm glow does not reach far, falling just short of where I sit. I pull my legs to my chest and rest my mug on my knees, watching the lights. They are my only company on this most sacred of nights. The festive colors around me are dimmed by the late hour and a glance at the clock tells me that the High Holy Day is upon me. The warmth of the mug radiates to my hands, though it doesn’t properly mimic the holiday cheer I’ve been missing.
Christmas. It’s not supposed to feel like this, I don’t think. It isn’t supposed to feel like an empty house and black coffee… Christmas dinner isn’t supposed to be replaced with smoke and a few tears, but that’s what it will be. The gifts under the paltry tree seem like a trap, with their bright sparkling paper and promises. They have traveled far, and I wonder if they remember the tenderness of the hands that wrapped them. I know the tearing of paper will fall hollow on my ears when it isn’t met with a room full of smile, but just my face. Even Christmas carols, no matter how loud they’re played sound wretched and forlorn when they fill an empty house. I am not home for Christmas, not even in my dreams.
I cough, the dregs of a cold still lingering in my soot stained lungs. I rise, determined not to sit in my own sorrow and wander outside. There is no need to bundle up, as it’s warm outside, more like a late summer evening than the dead of winter. It feels good, with fire on my tongue in the latest of nights. There is no one here to tell me to go to bed, that it’s too late and I need my rest. Just me and my cloud of smoke that will hide me from the world.
The cloudless night sky beats down, the stars and I are consonant. Up there in the big black beyond, they seem lonely and cold too. Would I were a wandering spirit, that I could dance through them and stain my feet with their imperial majesty. Though their beauty far exceeds my own I think they must know a like soul as they wink at me. It’s a vacant glimmer that falls shallow in my heart, but it’s something. Somewhere laughter tickles the wind and stirs the lingering leaves of the grand oak trees. Somewhere tonight lovers are meeting under mistletoe, giggling and singing along to carols on high. Children are desperately trying to keep the sandman away for just a glimpse of a red coat or the shake of a silver bell. Families are gathered together in cramped spaces, praying the Christmas spirit finds its way into their coffee in the morning… and then there’s me… passing another holiday without an embrace or a smile. I endure as I always have, quietly in the night.
Christmas. It’s not supposed to feel like this, I don’t think. It isn’t supposed to feel like an empty house and black coffee… Christmas dinner isn’t supposed to be replaced with smoke and a few tears, but that’s what it will be. The gifts under the paltry tree seem like a trap, with their bright sparkling paper and promises. They have traveled far, and I wonder if they remember the tenderness of the hands that wrapped them. I know the tearing of paper will fall hollow on my ears when it isn’t met with a room full of smile, but just my face. Even Christmas carols, no matter how loud they’re played sound wretched and forlorn when they fill an empty house. I am not home for Christmas, not even in my dreams.
I cough, the dregs of a cold still lingering in my soot stained lungs. I rise, determined not to sit in my own sorrow and wander outside. There is no need to bundle up, as it’s warm outside, more like a late summer evening than the dead of winter. It feels good, with fire on my tongue in the latest of nights. There is no one here to tell me to go to bed, that it’s too late and I need my rest. Just me and my cloud of smoke that will hide me from the world.
The cloudless night sky beats down, the stars and I are consonant. Up there in the big black beyond, they seem lonely and cold too. Would I were a wandering spirit, that I could dance through them and stain my feet with their imperial majesty. Though their beauty far exceeds my own I think they must know a like soul as they wink at me. It’s a vacant glimmer that falls shallow in my heart, but it’s something. Somewhere laughter tickles the wind and stirs the lingering leaves of the grand oak trees. Somewhere tonight lovers are meeting under mistletoe, giggling and singing along to carols on high. Children are desperately trying to keep the sandman away for just a glimpse of a red coat or the shake of a silver bell. Families are gathered together in cramped spaces, praying the Christmas spirit finds its way into their coffee in the morning… and then there’s me… passing another holiday without an embrace or a smile. I endure as I always have, quietly in the night.
