She breathes softly,
on the
window pane

leaning against
the hard glass

her eyes
moving,
with the
flickering,
street lamps.

She notices him
again

like every other day,

moving,
ever so swiftly
braving along,
the cold winds
rushing past

his hair,
slightly covering
his deformed
ears.

Her fingers feels
numb,
against the
hardened glass

she falls
down,
sobbing
tears with guilt.

She places her
forehead,
against the
cold glass

feeling herself with him.

The church bell,
chimes

sobbing harder
silently making,
a prayer
for,
her son.

The street lamps,
flickering
yet,
again with a
warm glow,
surrounding
itself.

The old woman,
making her way
along,
with him.

He stands,
looking above
where
she,
had left.

The church bells,
chimes

striking twelve
midnight.

It's Christmas already,
says the
old woman,
dragging him with
her,

just like thousands,
of others
braving through
the freezing
cold,
on one
Christmas eve.