Deck the Halls

With all guests gone, how quiet the apartment. Little signs of their existance in every room, triggers to remind me of their open hearts and generous souls. Thanksgiving leftovers tirelessly feed me. New shoes gleam by the door; my family can't stand to see me in such poverty, apparently. I would like to tell them one is never poor with family like that, but it seems such a trite observation.

Still, I revel in the quiet. I stay up through the night writing, until my eyelids close and I have to hope my fingers hit the right keys. I walk around in my flannel pyjamas from last year and listen to cheesy Christmas music, stringing up lights and tinsel around the room. I turn on the radiator in my room for a brief instant; it fires up with a crackle and smells of warm dust for a while before it sends hot, dry air into the apartment. I can only leave it on for half a cycle before the room is too warm. I revel in the soft feeling of approaching winter.

Christmas begins today. The magic begins today. My soul decides that any major turmoil must be put aside and dealt with at a later time. Maybe, by then, it will have passed anyways.

Perhaps that is the best magic, of all.