Eve

The day before the night before Christmas. I don't know what it's supposed to mean. Today, while it was still light, I succumbed to a soul-wrenching wrath. It lasted for hours. Old news, that I should have been done with. Then, later, I considered the idea of forgiveness, and found none in my heart. Damn the consequences. I could teach you something about pride.

Then, later still, I grew slightly more sane, and toyed with the idea. Of forgiveness. And I took hold of a tight but heavy load of pain so that I might place it in a neutral place, where I could give it a look, and maybe nudge it into the light. As soon as I put my hands on it though, I started to sob. I didn't manage to move it at all. I burned my hands and can feel nothing with them now.

I don't understand it. But I'll try again tomorrow. Hands don't need to feel anything, to move.

I am anticipating the return of my son. Twenty-three days. Or so. It makes me smile. And it makes me realize that I don't know how to hug a man. It's not about holding a body, though, is it.

I've had bad years. This will be a good one. The prophets will fall silent, perhaps.


J