There are many ways to celebrate a day.
I can tell by how people smile,
they talk, and they are simply
all in the mood they want.
They just want to.
Today I was taken out of the house,
to simply go to church and listen to
what my mother gives her peace.
I have not visited that site for a long time,
nor is it one of my concerns.
But while in my head
I can see the lights flicker,
people sing, I just look at the ceiling,
and I ask.
I am neither devout
nor privileged to be heard among others.
I do not have
the most important needs
for any deity to notice me.
Dressed in black,
sitting among the devotees,
I look at the ceiling and sigh.
I have had a hard year, I can not lie, but
I have lived more than in previous years.
I have stopped fearing and
I have begun to trust,
I have stopped thinking more when
it is not necessary.
I have purposed to understand
and not to judge.
But I look at the ceiling,
and I pray.
A simple dream.
One that I remember,
that a year ago was the beginning.
Maybe there's no one listening,
but just trying does not hurt anyone.
You are the one who surrounds my words in my mind,
and I ask for you.
Because I know that
the days are hard and others soft, because
I know you're strong and
you do not need anyone,
because I know that if I do something for you
it's a well done day because I want to do it.
Praying has always been uncomfortable for me,
but I can not deny that I smile at the end
to avoid releasing any tear that escapes.
I'm not sad about it, but
He knows how much I've done,
how much I've wanted,
like the others.
I'm proud to have you, so
I never want to lose you.
I feel grateful to see you grow, so
I never want to stop you.
Soon I want to be with you,
and that can be noticed by anyone
who knows me.
Because if they talk about me,
they'll talk about you too.
My mother asked me to finish
if I was happy.
I could only nod,
but sincere that in part I have much to say.
I love that when she notices it, she talks about you,
that never happens to me,
and that now she just likes you as much as I do,
it's a sign that
she's gotten used to what matters to me.
Love, I've written to you for a long time,
but every time I do it seems something new,
and that's how many should love.
Because, even if the world tires,
you never will.
Because someday
I'll take your hand when it's Christmas,
and these words will make sense
in their entirety.
Merry Christmas, my yearning.
See you soon.
