One Last Christmas Card

"It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas ... Everywhere you go"

Ugh! This song! I used to love this song. I used to love everything about Christmas and its lights and the new year. Christmas shopping was my favourite thing to do as it reminded me I have people in my life close enough to buy presents for and it made me smile thinking they have the same thought about me. But this Christmas ... there is a hole in my heart. A dark, deep, soul-sucking hole. She never came Christmas shopping with me, she wasn't a light, bubbly, let's-get-matching-pyjamas kind of gal. But she was all I could think of on my day of Christmas shopping. She hated predictable gifts. She wanted something with backstory and every time she wanted me to tell her my thought process of choosing the gift. To her, it was the thought that counted the most, even if it was only a card.

"Last Christmas, I gave you my heart"

Oh, come on! Do we really need to listen to this torture of a song every year? There's always some poor bastard who can relate to this song and feel like shit; present company excluded, thank God!

The bookstore is my next stop. Yeesh! the landmine. If I close my eyes, I can see her eyes sparkling as she enters all bookstores on the planet. But why would I close my eyes? I make my way through piles of books and try to breathe in the smell. These old, dusty bookstores are on a whole other level. At the back, I can see a wall of postcards.

"Wouldn't it be nice if we keep sending cards to the people we love even if they're not in our lives anymore?" I can hear her voice in my head.

"But why? If we love them, they should be in our lives, and if there are not there must be a good reason for it." I said.

"Oh, I wish life was as simple as this one-line rule." She sighed and walked away.

There is one card that catches my eye. A red circle at the bottom, two smaller black circles on top of it, two antlers that fill up the page, and ornaments hanging from the antlers. Reindeer dolls were her favourite Christmas decoration and she had a box full of them. She had two which she had named Rudolph (duh!) and Adolf. I was taken aback the first time I heard the name. I remember thinking why would someone attach a symbol of joy to a notorious name like that? But apparently, that was the whole point!

She laughed at my horror and said: "I am no Nazi sympathizer, breathe! They're brothers. Rudolph is sweet and caring, and Adolf is an asshole. I just thought it's funny to name them like this and one day I am going to write a story of these two going rogue on Santa and it will be hilarious."

Yes, she was adorably awkward.

I pick up the card and feel it in my hands. I imagine her opening the envelope and I know the minute she sees the card, she will think of the exact same thing, she would know the thought process, she would know who has sent the card without even opening it.

But how does that make her feel? Will she press the card to her chest and sigh and think about how much she misses me? Or will she scoff and throw the card in the trash? The thought of the latter was like a knife going through my heart. But I won't blame her though, I was the one who ended things after all. Why did I do that again? Ah, because I'm the Adolf.

I don't put the card down, as it is not one of those stores with hundreds of everything and frankly, I think this card must be hand-made. You know what? I am going to go with the first scenario. She would open the card, she would smile when she saw the antlers, she might get sad when she sees my handwriting, her hands might start to tremble a bit - she used to get like that when she had intense emotions - but in the end, she will take a deep breath and hold the card near her heart and maybe even shed a couple of tears? I am being melodramatic, I know.

Why isn't she here so we can laugh about this whole thing together right in this store? To be honest, I don't exactly know. Our last conversation is echoing in my head. The hurt and sorrow in her eyes, when I was trying to reason why this is not working and she would be better off without me. Why am I doing this to myself? It's been a year and I am here to do my Christmas shopping and feeling less shitty about myself and my life. Why did she have to appear now?

What if I send it anonymously and don't write anything? Would she know it's from me? Do I want her to know?

What exactly do you want her to know?

That I never stopped loving her. I reply to the voice of reason in my head.

Oh, that's just cruel!

Cruel! That's what she called me when I told her we should stop. I wasn't trying to be cruel. Cowardice would have been a more accurate definition of what was happening. Anyway, I don't need this shit right now. I thought I was done with the walk of shame. This was supposed to be my happy moment. I put the card down.

"All I want for Christmas is you ..."

Such a coward! The voice in my head said, truthfully.