It was Christmas and she was home all alone, with her three cats and some chocolate chip cookies in the oven. Some peppermint tea brewing and some Christmas music playing softly on a vinyl. That was it. It was crazy how in the big city of New York, where Times Square was most likely bustling with activity, how she felt so alone and isolated. She could’ve easily stopped feeling sorry for herself and dragged herself to the midst of the Christmas spirit. She missed days where it was easier on the Christmas Tree Farm she grew up on. How she would have the job of picking off the praying mantis pods from the Christmas trees her family grew, so they wouldn’t hatch in stranger’s houses. She missed wallowing in the fresh snow with her little brother, and she missed the snowplow rides and the snowman building. She could still wallow in the snow and build a snowman now, but it would seem silly for a grown woman to be doing that on the pavement of New York alone.
She thought back to her favorite Christmas, where her then boyfriend took her to celebrate in London for the first time. London was different from New York: it had more gloomy weather and the buildings were stubby little houses instead of tall skyscrapers.
Of course, three years had passed, and they had both moved on. Him, at least. Maybe he was in London, enjoying his mother’s Christmas roast, maybe he was creating traditions with his new girlfriend. Maybe, he even had kids to spend Christmas with now. One thing’s for sure though — he wasn’t spending it with her. She felt like she was paralyzed by time, stuck sitting in a corner she haunted. Just right where he left her.
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