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The Little Match Girl

I had a stocking hung up on the wall, waiting for his arrival, hanging empty in anticipation of being added to – waiting to be filled with joy and the presents of the season.

My daughter took it down yesterday, carefully rearranging the hooks on the wall to look as though there was nothing missing, no void, waiting for its fulfillment.

She didn’t want me to have to do it.

Again.

Goddess, I love that girl.

I had thought about removing that stocking…I was trying to avoid it, actually, and hadn’t quite decided what I was going to do. Leave it, and have to explain to everyone why it hangs empty? Or take it down, and get the “looks”? 

Either way, I know my parents will be full of questions, ones I don’t really want to answer just yet, and some I don’t know the answer to just yet.

I’m not sure what I’m going to do yet, and I really don’t feel like talking about it, out loud, not right now. It hurts, and like an animal with a wound, I’d like to go off into a hidden place, by myself, and bleed quietly, thank you.

What makes it more bitter to swallow is the holidays… lonely enough as is, now?

I’m nothing more than the Little Match Girl…sitting out in the cold, lighting matches (what a metaphor for a dating site, Hunh?),  trying to stay warm for a little while, & seeing hope in the flames. Hope that never blooms into reality and warmth. Each and every time I strike a match, I end up getting burned, but can’t stop from lighting the next as the previous one gutters out. Soon, my heart will give out, tired from the exertion, it will lay down to rest, and freeze, not to get back up again.

Goodnight, dear friends, for a little while.

Until the holiday is over, at least, I don’t think I can be here.

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