When We Could Crumble

Posted on December 19, 2009


Last year I barely noticed Christmas. Not only was the day itself indistinguishable from the entire previous month of teething winter, but I experienced a new kind of uncomfortable tension and hot tears in the morning. My soul was a young fly caught in a jar, softly suffocating.

This year I found a way to keep my soul from leaving my body. This was my most crucial and yet most unquantifiable accomplishment.

I miss people the most during this time of the year. I miss the people grew up with. Early winter is a collection of ghosts that come to revisit me. My grandfather (at peace, faithful departed) always comes to visit around this time of year too, walking around and smiling at me in my dreams. A few nights ago I even received a visit from an ex-boyfriend who I haven’t seen in years, whose primary message seemed to be that he would always be there for me, mostly whether I liked it or not. I’ve also reached dream number thirteen of my wedding day, each with its own disaster.

I carry my dreams with me all the next day and they stir undeniable weight.

While the end of the year has arrived almost unnoticed. We’ve all be kind of sighing with relief though. This year hasn’t feel like something to get through or to measure; it’s just been full of pressure and arguments and being broken and finding the love I thought was true to be even stronger. This year has presented a duality of honesty and emotion, from having a first kiss all over again, to falling onto the floor of a department store from helpless, stinging pain. The year has been wide, long, and the most fulfilling. It’s a collective of moments, of stories, of lingering feelings, of the monkey sitting on our shoulders so patiently just waiting for the moment when we could crumble.

The end of the year all runs together and we just keep living, keep breathing, until we find ourselves sitting across the table from January. The end of the year is a breaking. The purest snow will melt and carry the sediment from last year away through the drains.

Posted in: Christmas, winter