Christmas isn’t what it was as a kid.
Back when the house felt fuller,
when laughter filled every corner
and love arrived wrapped in noise and warmth.
I miss being surrounded by my family,
the way the room buzzed with togetherness,
the way happiness felt simple
measured in torn wrapping paper
and everything crossed off my list.
Back then,
nothing felt missing.
Everyone was right there.
Alive.
Loud.
Certain.
Now we’re scattered
across cities, years,
and places we can’t drive to anymore.
There aren’t many of us left,
and the quiet settles heavier
than the stale December air.
The lights still glow,
the songs still play,
but they echo differently now.
Like they’re trying to remember us
the way we were.
Christmas didn’t lose its magic
it just grew older,
like we did.
Carrying more memory than moment,
more longing than surprise.
And still,
when I close my eyes,
I can hear them
feel that warmth again,
if only for a breath.
Through the Fog 