Wintery winds.
Chestnut roasting fires.
Boughs of holly hung high on our front doors.
Christmas lights hung on the roofs of those who took the time to untangle them.
They shine much like little stars sometimes.
Sitting by the fireplace, drinking home made cocoa.
One of the many things that I love about this season.
But with every happy memory about this season comes another heartbreak of the same.
The lights that we hung together, they blew up.
The tree is no longer real.
The holly fell off the door.
The wintery winds turned bitter and still.
If only the mistletoe still hung high above you and I.
The angels have stopped singing for you and I, now that you are one of them.
But if only the mistletoe still hung above us for I would give everything to go back in time and have that first mistletoe kiss with you again.
