At Least They're Committed

Ah, how beautiful the snow would be, the Christmas lights, the music bursting from the seams of the homes along the block, throughout the neighborhood and across the country were I looking down upon it from above.

But alas, I see but only a house or two deep, hearing nothing but my own tunes and see only the lights I’ve placed on my tree and those in the windows across the street.

The season of joy, of rapture, of celebration is not lost on me nor is the futility of another year gone with no hope for hope for me. Someone is coming up the stairs whose footfalls I cannot quite discern. No matter. I straighten and smile and pretend a year longer.