It’s not going to happen again. Last Christmas was so gloomy God found every family member sniffling under her covers. I think back to 2015… to happiness. Christmas Day, to be exact. I promise myself nothing like last Christmas will ever happen to this person again.
My promising boyfriend of 2014 is laughable history at this point, but it is possible to enjoy the winter holidays again- this I promise myself, for good.
December crawls forward as I try to keep my mind roaming the zone of happy things and responsibilities, things I simply must do while I still have time and things I have to take care of before it’s too late. But there is more- a factor I can’t make myself exclude from the equation of life.
People keep telling me, “Girl, you can’t think about him”. But it has never been that simple. The tattoo of his knuckles written on my chest in purple, blue, yellow, and green ink won’t rinse off in a million long, steamy showers. Even if I’m sharing the shower with Alex from my gym, the imprint is not one I can erase with willpower and water. I don’t want to think about the squeezes and slaps he forced me to endure in those two years but I haven’t forgotten a single one. I want to eliminate the pictures of my escalating sunglasses collection, but every look at the dresser- dents and all- conjures up the roadmap of where every pair was the day I retired them. I don’t want to think about him at all, but I just can’t help it. Everything reminds me of everything. But this is different. This is Christmas, which in character is an entirely different affair. Christmas isn’t a murder he gets to commit.
I’m going to stop thinking about him and nothing that I let him to do his victim will ever happen again.