I didn't want anything really, nor did I need the miles of ribbon and yards of wrapping paper concealing "surprises." I hate all the Oh-it-was-nothing-don't-worry-about-it's, and the ceaseless flash of the camera, capturing the moments of undressing the little boxes and hidden treasures. It makes me feel sick.
Knowing that someone else out there wanted these things, and got nothing.
Knowing that I didn't want these things, and got them, and still am kind of happy about it.
I feel guilty with all my gift cards and shiny new things. (But, I still... like them... which further sickens me.)
And it isn't even over yet.
This is the fourth Christmas this week, not counting the visits to my porch some of my friends made to pick up paintings I had done for them. I still have at least two more to go. Christmas at Mom's and then Christmas in the mail.
Honestly the only "present" I was looking forward to was seeing the smile on your face when you opened things from me. Really, all I wanted this year was to lay in your bed a while longer while you ran your hands through my hair and predicted the future. Like some sort of magician or fortune teller, come to seduce me. I'll take off my clothes and lay here for you, waiting for sweet words and little kisses and morse code. Really all I wanted was just to wish you a Merry Christmas and eat even more dessert and hold hands and joke about the mistletoe overhead.
I wanted to give you this puzzle piece that fits to mine. I want to remember this holiday happily.
I never liked Christmas, though.
I just like you.
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