It’s December. One of the happiest times of year, and the saddest. Three years ago this time, I was given a diamond ring by a man I was crazy about. Not five months later, I gave it back.
It's December. Christmas is in the air, its scent joyous and excited. Still all carols and hot chocolate and glowing lights in the world cannot melt my heart of ice. I am happy. I smile and laugh and go on with life. It’s expected of me. It’s proper of me. It is acceptable for me to have moved on. It is normal for me to enjoy another man draping his arm casually around my neck.
It's December. Between the ribbon wrapping and commercial breaks, I stop to think of him. In the moment of hesitation before venturing out into the breath freezing world, I imagine his warm hand in mine.
It’s December. My family is together, my friends are always within reach. But all I want to do is curl up with something that no longer exists; a warm spirit of the past. Whoever thought ghosts to be chilling and cold? He is as hot as a fire place coal. Yes, I call him a ghost. He might as well be dead. For all I know he is.
It's December. The snow is falling softly, silently outside. Tomorrow I will rise and wipe my eyes. Tomorrow life goes on. But tonight I’ll indulge myself in his memory, like sneaking a few extra chocolates from an advent calender. It’s nice for now; it satisfies me, but I’ll pay for it tomorrow.
It’s December and everything is beautiful and cold. It’s December and I feel our love grow old. It’s December and I wonder what it would be like to have your hand to hold, one more night. But then I remember it has long since been sold.
The price of a ring is far too high for the price of love. This Christmas I’ll try again to invest in joy, not things.