This Christmas

Christmas is approaching. People start to decorate their trees. The lights, the fancy ornaments, the stars, all the happiness that follows. And we're here, locked in a room with our separateness. Far away from the crowd, we sit on each side of the bed, looking down. The tears that secretly stream down our faces form a little pond down the floor. 

A second, a minute, an hour, we lose count of time. Every moment we spend waiting goes right to waste. Why do candles share their lights only to find themselves burned down? The never ending questions, they come back to us like thirst finds a fountain. 

The church bells ring, the people sing. The joy that's been awaited has arrived to people's heart. But not us. In the holy night, we have nothing to celebrate. 

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