I put the star up on the tree and look around to see the glitter, golden and silver, clinging on to the black and white woollen geometric patterns on my sweater. Every year, some of the glitter falls off, and every year, I put some more on. I crouch against the back of the sofa and wriggle my fingers into the handle of my mug, curling them up against the warmth. The smell of coffee mixed with the cold and dry leaves – this is winter, the smell I want to trap in a jar and save up forever. Instead I have to make do with simple remembrance.
It is that time of the year, the one I wait for every remaining day. It is the time I feel the most hopeful, when naïve faith beats any tiny bit of cynicism I might have built up. All the days of locking myself up, heart breaking and making, all the shaking catches up with me, but for once, everything is okay. If only for a day. If only for a moment. It is okay.
And I know this is a skinny love, it ends too soon. So I remember it all – the tinsel on my shoulder, the bokeh lights on the ceiling and that smell, that smell that I am not allowed to keep to myself – and I remember them dearly, just to last another year.