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--RosieOnTheRun (from reality)--

United Kingdom

What am I meant to say here? That I'm an inspirational young writer wanting to share her talent with the world? Coz no. That's not me. I'm just a insignificant, invisible, voice. Trying to write in a pool of fears, and hoping the ink won't smudge.

A walk through December

December 12, 2016

As I walk down a corridor somewhere in my mind, I see a door labeled Christmas, and now I walk inside. 
In our sitting room, the first saturday of the month. Ben's in the corner, setting up his camrea on time lapse mode, trying to capture our christmas in a speeded up video of the past. As I reverently stroke each tree decoration, and stare in awe at the emerald giant, who's naked boughs welcome us. We cloth him in memories and smiles and laughs as one by one we place our decorations upon his arms. And Daddy is grinning as he points out, a bauble from india, from Mumbai, Timbuktu. And Mummy untangles glass stars from once gold streamers and silver angles too. And Sam and Ben laugh, and shake their heads at each other as I narrowly miss hurling myself into the tree.
and I crouch by a key hole, somewhere in my mind, see twinkling lights and laughter intertwined 
We are in the sitting room, all five of us. And for once, as a Christmas film blares on the TV, Sam and Ben are silent and the arguing has ceased. And by my feet the fire materialises joy, that glows and warms like the flames that dance behind glass. And standing tall and proud, the Christmas tree looks on. Decorated with memories of Christmases long gone.  And right at the top a star, faded with time, as we remember the first star, and the wise men from a far, and the son of man born on christmas day.
And now through a window, somewhere in my mind, I hear the sound of singing, and one voice is mine.
We're all in church. Me, Sarah and Ailsa side by side. And Dads, with homemade crowds crammed on there heads, by little hands eager to please, laugh as they giggle. And at the front the christmas story someone reads, as wise men and sheep and cute angels parade. And theres always one kid, who stares transfixed at the tiny model Jesus and at the tiny sheep. And everyone is singing, and I'm singing too, as voices young and old, merge and join the harmony of laughter, scratching pens, as children colour on.
and as I open another door, somewhere in my mind, a haze of green and red and step in to find
I am sitting on the floor,surrounded by a snake of half done paper chains, I continue to to make it and the green and red monster grows to the sound of David Attonbourgh's voice. As a penguin slips on screen Ben is immersed, phone discarded, eyes diverted, Molly the dog is a warm fluffy lump on Mummy's lap,occasionally sighing with contentment or rolling over for her belly to be scratched. And Sam is here too, pretending not to watch, pretending 17 is to old to enjoy the antics of a baby polar bear. as if! And Daddy in his armchair, newspaper on knee, occasionally looking and smiling at me.
and suddenly I see, somewhere in my mind, a door barred with tinsel and bearing the sign, 'Do not open till the 25th'
And this is not that time
And somehow I know, with knowing how, that even to peek, through the key hole, would break some sacred rule. And I know that, like some people belong together, some feelings belong to their day. And christmas can't be wished closer, dreamt closer, hoped closer, and you cant open your presents till the 25th. Because this is the biggest gift Christmas gives, The joy, the fun, the apprehension, singing carols, laughter in the rain,the memory's. The love.


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  • December 12, 2016 - 1:31pm (Now Viewing)

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