Wednesday, December 14, 2016

The Season

I dream of a white Christmas. Snow covered streets send chilled whispers through each flake.

I live near the beach where Christmas is as blue and expansive as the rest of the year. The sets come up near the shore, drawing smiles out of glassy folds in the water. Surfers slash it open, leaving behind foamy scars that recedes into the sun.

I fold myself between white sheets like I was a packet that can be sent away.  I can't read the message inside, but it feels like a tear that goes on and on.

Sirens blare into the twilight. My friends look at me with sad eyes, tired from traveling. We ride the roller coasters together, our tickets stamped with: single, unlimited rides. We try to sip on our tea, but it spills as soon as we press close. The train puffs white smoke and blue dust unto its gray tracks. We get ready for photos.

Our Christmas cards cross paths but departs before a meeting is possible. Soon there will be a new year, and another set of seasons, dreams, waves, rides and unfolding white sheets.

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