25/12/2025
𝐎𝐍 𝐀 𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓
They say the holiday season is a moment to celebrate relationships, give love, and live the light of what’s within. It is a time intended to be forked out with our loved ones, to anticipate the joyous atmosphere over the dinner table, in the presence of the Yuletide carols.
𝑩𝒖𝒕 𝒘𝒉𝒚 𝒅𝒐𝒆𝒔 𝒊𝒕 𝒔𝒆𝒆𝒎 𝒕𝒐 𝒃𝒆 𝒂𝒏 𝒐𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒐𝒖𝒔 𝒓𝒆𝒄𝒐𝒍𝒍𝒆𝒄𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒎𝒆?
I have always yearned to linger within the soft linen fabric that caresses your skin. I cherished your broken pieces, protecting them with the best of my soundness, for shielding you with my vulnerability has always been the lone choice. As the cold whisper of the evening embraced our company, the idea of etching this into a storybook, driven by the longing to change our story, has always scratched the edges of my mind.
I imagined we would watch the stars align above and beyond, forging our image together amidst an ocean of crowds. I dreamt of plucking stems with you in a field full of warm-toned tulips under the scorching heat. I longed to wander with you on the sidetracks, yelling to the heavens that may the odds be in our favor without exception.
As the raindrops grew heavier with each fall, you coated me, wrapping my body with the warmth of your own. As the mirror began to shatter, you held my hand—our palms touching, bringing me an unfaltering sense of ease.
“𝑳𝒆𝒕’𝒔 𝒈𝒂𝒛𝒆 𝒂𝒕 𝒉𝒐𝒘 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒓𝒔 𝒘𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒂𝒍𝒊𝒈𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒕𝒊𝒎𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒍𝒆𝒕 𝒊𝒕 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓 𝒘𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒔 𝒍𝒐𝒏𝒈 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒍𝒐𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒔𝒕 𝒕𝒊𝒎𝒆,” you declared under the night sky.
𝑰𝒕 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒚𝒐𝒖, 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝑰 𝒍𝒐𝒏𝒈 𝒇𝒐𝒓.
Your words filled me with so much hope. I prayed to the heavens that let this Christmas Eve frame the very first chapter of our story. The night is getting older, the moon displays its brightest light, and the stars are harmoniously aligned. It is the moment—it should be our moment. In a blink of an eye, just as I pondered that we were on the same page, you dispatched me into a wounded state as you uttered to me your heart’s greatest desire.
“𝑰 𝒍𝒐𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒐 𝒉𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒉𝒆𝒓,” you said quietly.
The streetlights became blurry, the sounds of trumpets echoed as loud as thunder, piercing through my nerves, and the cool breeze started sizzling. I was blankly staring at the sky as if the stars vanished into the dusk. And an odd silence took over the entirety of us, enough to hear the howls of my grieving heart.
Selfless, I am, for the scars I tried to conceal with bandages of my arteries. Selfish, I am, for the scars I concealed, fearing you might notice.
"𝑰 𝒘𝒊𝒔𝒉 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕'𝒔 𝒈𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒔𝒕 𝒅𝒆𝒔𝒊𝒓𝒆 𝒘𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒃𝒆 𝒗𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒅, 𝒂𝒍𝒘𝒂𝒚𝒔 𝒊𝒏 𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒘𝒂𝒚𝒔. 𝑴𝒆𝒓𝒓𝒚 𝑪𝒉𝒓𝒊𝒔𝒕𝒎𝒂𝒔, 𝒎𝒚 𝒃𝒆𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒅," I said, my voice steady, masking the bitterness threatening to spill over as I fought to keep my composure intact.
I’ve understood the reality—the truth that our love is not meant to transpire in this lifetime. There were never colored tulips nor romances, and perhaps I’ve fantasized about it all. I was left under the sounds of firecrackers in the sky, deep in the woods walking on the old leaves with rustling wind pickling over my face, telling me that someday, we’ll get to meet again, to share laughter and love—on the next winter night.
Written by: Jahna Par
Pubmat by: Honel
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🏳️🌈🏳️⚧️
