December is always a long month for me. Back in Highschool I lost the first girl I loved in December for the first time. And later, when we got back together when I was in college -- in between which I dated no one -- she left me again in December. I still gave her a Christmas present that year...one that I poured a piece of myself into.
Years later and it's another December. I know the year is based on the same 12 months it was back then, but it always sneaks up on me. If there is some cosmic wheel I'm running for a god's amusement, I'd just like to say it's getting more than a little tiring.
I'm tired of losing the ones I love in December. I'm tired of exchanging words that have some sort of finality to them -- the type of words where I know I'm losing something and I have no control over it.
I'm pouring myself into another Christmas this year, hoping to make a small mark upon your heart before it pulls away for good. And years later, when we're older, someone will look at that heart of yours and see our initials carved into it, along with the year that marked the start of when I was in love with you, and they'll know that someone made an impression upon your life.
I'd give most anything for that to be me, staring back at an aged scar that I put there myself.
I love you more today than yesterday, but not as much as tomorrow.