WHEN THE FIRST flakes of snow fall on the ground, my heart begins to warm, in stark contrast to the frigid winter weather. Two hours from now, the lovely dazzling Christmas lights will be turned on; I look forward to seeing them light up every year. They aren't remarkable, but they offer me a reason to live until the end of the year in order to see if these lights ever change.
Spoiler alert They don't.
They've never done so in my entire life. I'm not sure how the lights haven't broken or how the glass hasn't cracked, and wether they they replace the lights every year with the same ones is a mystery to me.
I dash downstairs, my bare feet slapping against the chilly laminate flooring covering the corridor floor.
I allow my fingers to trace over the wooden makeshift shoe rack, Mama had made long before I was born, I avoid moving my finger over the bumps avoiding getting a splinter like I had last time.
I crouch down, lowering my arm to the lowest section grabbing ahold of my old, battered and worn down converse from the lowest section before slipping them both onto my feet.
My purple nail polish has began to peel of my big toe. Showing how I'm too afraid, to walk ten steps down my road and buy nail polish from the dodgy corner shop.
I exhale through my nose, before sliding my slender arms through my blue large winter coat which is extremely to large to comfortably hug my body and keep my body from the bitter winter air.
Over the most recent months Mama has become too ill to leave the hospital. I prayed every night that she would be able to watch me today, but unfortunately god didn't grant me my wishes. I brush my fingertips against the top of my kittens head before leaving the house and closing the door behind me with my thigh.
I allow my hands to glaze over the bumps and curves of the newly fallen snow coating the almost broken fences with screws loose, surrounding where the coaches are lined up.
One upon a time, Christmas had been my favourite season as I was able to spend time with my family and experience true happiness. For the past four years now, I've been celebrating Christmas alone. My neighbours usually invite me to celebrate with them but I loathe intrusion and sorrow.
Taking a deep breath, I proceed to join the extremely large cue for the coach. As I continue to walk towards the line, I pull my phone from my behind pocket. The coaches have arrived late, so I'm hoping that I'll be able to make it on time. Suddenly, I trip over a pair of shoes and fall down onto the ground. I raise my head allowing my eyes to land on the handsome man I had tripped over.
"I'm so sorry," I say gently whilst the man grunt while rolling his eyes. I tuck a strand of my hair behind my slightly pointed ear, before using both my hands to push myself of the gravel floor.
"Watch where you're going." The man growls in a strong voice. I bite down on my lower lip, before bending down to wipe the trail of blood trickling down my leg whilst picking up my newly smashed phone. I show a subtle smile at him before joining the line for coach one.
Great, what an amazing way to start the day.
I wait in line for what feels like eternity. A slight smile appears onto my lips as I check my ticket number noticing I'm in row 5 of the first coach. I tighten my grip on my bag before taking a seat at the closest window and taking my current book from my bag which I soon begin reading.
The coach is about to leave in the next three minutes, and I still don't have anybody taking the seat beside me. Which means I won't have anybody sitting next to me the entirety of the ride.
Though, I am quickly proven wrong when I hear a quite loud groan from the man hovering beside me. I smile at the man who had tripped me only moments before. I scoot closer towards the window becoming intimidated by the man's gorgeous eyes.
