Sometimes I think of you.
I think of you showing up at my house
in the middle of a snowstorm
with white roses,
hot cheetos,
High School Musical 3,
and your favorite sweater.
And you'd knock on my door
and I'd come running
and I'd open it up,
and there you would be.
You'd smile at me and whisper,
"I'm so sorry.
I made a mistake.
Please forgive me."
And,
because I love you,
I'd nod
and let you in.
We'd cuddle on the couch,
our bodies tangled in each other,
and we'd whisper,
"I love you."
Sometimes I think of you doing this.
Sometimes I believe that you are planning this.
But,
I don't know,
maybe I'm wishing for a Christmas miracle.
And,
we all know miracles don't exist.