Cries will be singing Silent Night

Christmas carols by candlelight

Please come home for Christmas,

Please come home for Christmas.

If not Christmas, by New Year's Night.

Frost etched intricate designs against the glass of her window. The Christmas lights that littered the buildings about the city blurred into a spectrum of colors penetrating the thin sheet of cold that protected her from their happiness and warmth. She had no reason to celebrate Christmas this year or any other- she hadn't done so since she was nine. Not willingly, anyway.

It was his idea last year. The memory was forever etched in her mind just as the frost was etched into the glass, the night that she came home to find a small lit tree on their coffee table and a menorah in the window. She was too stubborn to recognize it then, but she knew now- celebrating the holidays wasn't about celebrating some baby in a barn or eight days with some stupid oil. To him it was so much more than that. It was a façade- an excuse to buy her gifts without her snide commentary. It was an excuse to cook an overly elaborate meal that he knew she'd never finish. It was his opportunity to show her exactly how much he loved her without her questioning it.

She mocked it instead.

And now he was gone. He was gone and she wanted to celebrate Christmas. She wanted to put up the stupid menorah and help him decorate the diminutive tree. She wanted all of it.

Icy wind whistled against the window, seeping through the seams. It chilled the single tear that slid down her cheek. Every time she had convinced herself that she was over him something would invoke a memory that would only prove to her that she wasn't. A scraping noise against the floor pulled her attention from the lights and towards her door. A small red envelope lay on the gray floor and she narrowed her eyes at it.

Kneeling on the floor next to it, she picked it up. She examined it carefully as if it were somehow dangerous. It was a Christmas card, but she had no clue as to who would just slide a Christmas card under the door. She lifted the crisp triangular flap to open it and slide the card from its confines. It was plain- just white cardstock with some holiday design etched into the paper.

The writing on the inside of the card would be nondescript to most, and possibly impersonal- but to her it meant so much more. She stood and laid her hand against the door, her eyes sliding shut for a moment. The words had shaken her to the very core. Exhaling a shaky breath, she unlocked the door and slowly pulled the door open.

He was there. His soulful eyes misty and his smile sad, but he was there. She couldn't even force a smile as she examined him in stunned silence. He looked like she felt. Neither knew why he was there, what drew him back on this day nearly six months later.

And neither one questioned it.

She stood back and let him into the apartment. He strode past her with a timidity that had never manifested itself before. His eyes lingered on her for a few moments before he gently pulled her into his arms. His hands rubbed softly at the small of her back and his chin rested atop her head. There were no words to describe the guilt and relief he felt all at the same time.

Cristina buried her face in his chest, breathing him in. He was warm. He felt safe. Tomorrow she would be angry with him. Tomorrow she would question him and yell at him until she couldn't yell anymore. Tomorrow she would tell him exactly how much she hated him for what he did and he would listen.

Tomorrow they would start over, just as his card had said. Tonight they would drink coffee and lay exhausted in each other's arms as they looked at the city lights through the frosted windows. Tonight she would be shielded from the cold by the warmth of his arms.

Tonight they would be happy once again.

So won't you tell me you'll never more roam?

Christmas and New Years you will find home.

There will be no more sorrows, no grief and pain.

And I'll be happy, Christmas once again.