I'm sick of this christmas music
The holy and tinsel and
The way my too-tired friends will jaunt around
Telling me the girl who stared them down in their first week at College was a *****, and the guy who never slept alone was trying to make up for the Lab he missed last Tuesday, and how they snuck a look at the group behind conformity buildings one and two on game night
Then we'll walk into the consumerist shops glitzed up, marveling at the sales, and we're broke, but I'll pay for you,
And we'll ***** and fit and smile tight because we missed each other we missed these outings we missed this performance we used to put on
We'll run out of things to complain about.
In the middle of World Market or Ross I'll sing a verse from the song on the speakers and curse when it cuts out for a cashier's announcement.
You'll groan and promptly leave me in the aisle.
Not entirely lost, but I'm sick of trying to find you. You never leave me in the store anyway.
There are children who witnessed our display.
One is lost and yet not lost like me.
"Hey!" I shout for you, for you'll come and grin to the child, not the fake teeth you flashed me bared, you'll ask if they need help, I'll sing them a song, and I'll carry them.
You'll find their mother, who will look at us as if to say "couldn't you have waited to return them?"
It's now dark and snowing and I can't drive. So I drag you to party city and buy something stupid I'll wear when we get to our other friend's party or your house for dinner, or the junior high to delight in misery and our mutual hate.
But I love you.
I love singing songs to you off key.
I love showing you my scars and letting you rip them apart.
This is my favorite kind of Christmas.