dolorous interludes.

"Her nature developed like a flower,
for it had borne blossoms of scarlet flame.
And out of her secret hiding place,
she was free in her prison of passion."

And so mid December arrives; the days go by quickly when her dismal resource is to think that life would soon pass her by. i await Spring expectantly; its always such a relief from the winter breeze in the city; the snow has been more lonely than cold in this grey-white month.

This Christmas, one could wish for the world of golden treasures and riches: honey blazed turkey, rich red wine, charity balls and masquerades, a new piano with florid wooden legs, a pretty pink purse, Literature on hard covers, seven long awaited records, and my most recent craving- subway meatball sandwich on hearty italian. Wouldnt it be so very lovely if all these wishes could be fulfilled? But even more lovely if none of these were, and if the only one and most desired was. It remains in my everyday hope and heart to have a special someone to spend this Christmas with. Just a night. It would be magical, if such dreams were kept to a midnight chime.

Christmas always seems to disappoint though. perhaps ive been on Santa's 'naughty' list. i still remember last year's. Family warmth on the hearth in the form of present presenting and the excited tearing of wrappers did nothing to tame the innate yearning that begins as a spark, and grows to a burning flame each christmas. It must be the theatres that instill in us each a superficial false sort of hope and vivid dreams that are sure to crushed only because such perfected moments exist nowhere near reality.

Anyhow, ive got eight days exactly to be good. perhaps then will Santa make this christmas a specialer one. Just no christmas carols please, unless you'r intending to pull a stunt like the one on Love Actually. -smiles-

posted by voyeur @ 12/17/2003 03:30:00 PM