To tell you the truth, my first December wasn't my first December. My first December, I sat in a bed by the window and tried to play with the other kids, on my first December I sat next to the window and thought what a beautiful day it is to disappear from the world.
On my first December, I wished the snow would stop, on my first December I wished the snow would keep going and going until it buried me from head to toe.
On my first December, I dreamed of going outside and making snow angels with the other kids. I watched from a window perched high above the snow as the other kids ran out their doors and my parents bolted the doors shut. From my seat high above, I heard screams and laughter, yet none of them were mine.
On my first December, I laid on the ground and made a snow angel. That day, it was snowing and I could hear the laughter down the street as kids made their way through the sidewalks, each with their own purpose and yet all I could think was how beautiful it was, the snow and the snowflakes. That day, the doors to my house were no longer firmly bolted shut, and still, none of the laughter was mine.
Those first December days, I sat by a window and pretended I were them. And so that's how my first December days came and went: watching the frozen rain fall.
I'll tell you a story. A story told in Decembers. But before you can understand why I did what I did or the future I dreamed of for the past 20 Decembers, you must first, truly and without a doubt, understand me.
