His eyes watered, and a single tear rolled down his left cheek.

"No, no--I just yawned,"

But he is hiding something soft inside.

What I love about Christmas

I have strict parents. As an only child, it was as if my parents expected me to live up to the glory of both of them combined.

The holiday season was coming around, and with every step there was a reminder that loved ones were spending time together. I, on the other hand, was not. I was stuck at home, studying. But I wasn't worried; I knew my parents cared little about my education aside from my grades. Beyond that, they were wholly ignorant.

It was the first day of holiday break, yet I had feigned doing homework the night before. My parents knew not when school was out for the year, and I planned on taking advantage of it. I left at the usual hour, around six in the morning, and arrived at the bus stop. I hopped on the bus that usually takes me to school. However, I got off the bus five stops early.

Walking up the short driveway, I called Christina, my best friend. We had known each other since third grade. Drowsily, my she answered.

"Hrgmf why are you calling me at this hour? There's no school today."

"Look outside your window, and then go open the front door."

"What?"

I had arrived at my best friend's house unannounced and was waving at the upstairs window. Christina's face appeared in the window, contorted as if saying what in the world, girl?, vanished, and a few seconds later the front door swung open.

She was still dressed in her pink pajamas tessellated with fluffy sheep, rubbing her eyes. I entered the house, rubbing off the remnants of snow on the doormat, and then shed my layers of winter clothing on the floor. Together we went upstairs, and I explained that I wanted to spend time with my boyfriend, but there would've been no way I could've done so if my parents knew I wasn't at school.

She grinned and turned on her computer, and we watched music videos of hot Korean singers until the sun rose. Then, I thanked Christina, caught another bus, and arrived at the park, glittering white with freshly fallen snow. I saw my boyfriend on a bench, and he stood up as he saw me. I flew into his arms, and thought: my favorite thing about Christmas is spending time with the people I love.

She was in love.

The fresh snow sank underneath her feet, as if the two of them were walking on clouds. She certainly felt on top of the world, hand in hand with her childhood friend. She had known him for forever, and the memories they shared had grown. A picture of them was on her desk: it was the two of them in an embrace for the play their seventh grade English class performed. She treasured moments like that.

She could feel her emotions bubbling warmly within her. Unable to contain herself, she threw her arms around him, grinning widely. She felt the passion electrifying her, and it was the flames of their love that kept her warm on this cold cold evening.

~~~

He was cold.

The fresh snow sank underneath his feet, as if the two of them were about to drown in quicksand, together. He certainly lost his balance a few times, but hand in hand he knew that if he was dragged in she'd be with him. They were childhood friends. He had known her for forever, and the memories they shared had grown. A picture of them was on his parents' wardrobe: it was the two of them stumbling across the lawn together in diapers. His parents treasured moments like those.

He could almost feel the biting wind within him, piercing his skin. Suddenly, she turned and threw her arms around him, almost knocking him over in her jubilation. He felt thermodynamics in action as she clung to him, and it was her body heat that kept him warm on this cold cold evening.

~~~

It was Valentine's Day. She showed up at his doorstep with a bouquet of flowers. Her imagination wandered, thinking of how his face would light up to see her. She rang the doorbell, and it chimed what in her blissful mood sounded like the singing of angels.

She heard the door being unlocked and saw it open slowly. She jumped into his arms, and he stumbled a few steps backwards, a shocked expression his face. How successful my surprise was: he's speechless!

He set the flowers on the table, and she pulled out the card that she was holding. She had memorized the words, and recited them in her head as he read them out loud.

Roses are red

Violets are blue

Without you with me

Don't know what--Achoo!

He sneezed a cute sneeze, neglecting to finish the poem. I would do, she completed in her head, and there were four more verses yet to come. He excused himself to grab a tissue, and the card had slipped between the cushions of the sofa. She rescued the card and set it on the table, hoping he would notice it later.

But when he returned, he simply informed her that he was busy and could not be distracted. He escorted her to the door and showed her the way out. She felt disheartened; the poem was left untouched. To have gotten through only three of twenty lines that conveyed her love for him was like opening the gate to the Garden of Eden and then turning around.

Dejected, she returned to the bike she had left on the sidewalk. He probably didn't even notice the heart she painstakingly etched into the snow on his lawn with her bike tires.

She felt so underappreciated. For the first time in a long time, she cried.

~~~

It was Valentine's Day. He had been watching comedy acts and arguing with his friend about the hottest actresses all morning--after all, it was a weekend, and he felt no urgent need to exercise his brain. The doorbell rang, an obnoxious buzzing that drowned out the comedian on the screen. Grudgingly, he stalked to the door.

Undoing the two locks and opening the door, a flurry of pink tackled him, and he staggered a few steps backwards. The bouquet of roses she was holding reminded him, and he was in shock. Oh, today is Valentine's Day!

He set the flowers on the table, and she handed him a card. He had meant to buy a box of chocolates for her yesterday, but had forgotten, and now had nothing to give in return.

Roses are red

Violets are blue

Without you with me

Don't know what--Achoo!

He faked a sneeze because he could already feel things getting out of hand--he didn't want to read five stanzas of this mushy rhetoric with her. He excused himself briefly and went into the restroom, closing the door behind him. She's a great friend. Why can't I love her as she loves me? he thought to himself, sinking his face into his hands. He reminded himself he was only in here for a tissue, composed himself, and walked back outside.

He saw her beady eyes follow him as he returned to her side, making it all the harder to ask her to leave. He told her he was busy and could not be distracted. He escorted her to the door and showed her the way out. He felt guilty; the poem was left untouched. To have gotten through only three of twenty lines that conveyed her love for him was a close escape, like peering down into the first circle of hell and quickly turning around.

He looked on apologetically as she walked down his driveway, and a large heart caught his eye. She had biked the graceful pattern on his lawn. Unable to bear the pain, he shut the door and sat back down on the sofa.

For a few seconds, he stared blankly at the card that lay on the table, but then he picked it up:

Roses are red

Violets are blue

Without you with me

Don't know what I would do

Roses are red

Violets are blue

Bees need flowers

And I need you

Roses are red

Violets are blue

I didn't start living

Until I met you

Roses are red

Violets are blue

The sun shows its beauty

But true beauty's in you

Words can't express

How much I love you

I tried my best

And forevermore will do.

He felt so cruel. For the first time in a long time, he cried. But then he noticed how the syllables didn't fit, and in his remorse he found infinite comfort in that flaw, as if it justified his harshness, and his tears of pain and despair turned to those of laughter. Of course such poorly written words can't express your love, silly girl.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As requested, here is what was meant to be a short satirical post, but now will need to be continued. Hopefully, my message is coming across....

K 1

It's not that she didn't look good. Even as tear after tear rolled down her face, painted with grief, she was stunning. It's not that guys didn't admire her. Even as she wallowed in self-pity, depressed over her loss, people saw a fun and bright personality. No, she chose to be alone.

Two days ago marked an anniversary, not one of celebration and joy, but one of mourning and despair. It has been three hundred and sixty seven days since she lost her fiancée--lost her fiancée not to disease or misfortune, but to a psychological agony that resulted in suicide.

~~~

It was a dark night, and in running errands for his manager, he had stayed late at work, not leaving the office until ten o'clock. He wasn't the only one; there were five others in the office, all working overtime to complete a project for the client. In the frantic chaos that possessed him and his coworkers as the deadline approached, he had forgotten to tell his fiancée that he would be late getting home. She must be worried sick.

Thus preoccupied by guilt, he mindlessly kept his foot on the pedal. Five, ten, fifteen over the speed limit. The car accelerated, as did his heartbeat. At that hour, there were almost no cars still on the freeway. The only other car was in the distance, its break lights completing an eerie red grin that winked mockingly when the car shifted lanes. I must stay awake. I must get home safely, embrace her loving arms and wipe from her face the worried, anxious expression she is undoubtedly wearing as she awaits my return.

Thud. The airbag came out, muffling his voice as he yelled obscenities. He quickly came to a stop along the shoulder; the eerie grin faded into the night. Opening the door, his thoughts were arrested. Sprawled across the two right-most lanes was a young man in a black sweatshirt, not much older than himself, perhaps in the late twenties. His music player had flown out of his hand and was now lying on the shoulder of the freeway, next to his front left tire. He picked it up; the now-cracked display showed "Hawthorne Heights - Disaster."

He dialed 911. He returned the music player to the pocket of the man, face down and motionless on the concrete. The ambulance arrived. He left his contact information, and continued home.

~~~

Where were you? Where have you been? Why do your features convey an inexplicable worry, and why do you not speak of them to me? These thoughts flitted across her mind, but she chose not to pursue them. Instead, she held her fiancée. He was dripping wet after walking in the rain a quarter of a block to and from the mailboxes for the apartment complex. Whether his periodic shivers were from the cold or from a deeper trouble, she could not tell. She knew it was not the right time to ask. She knew that he would tell her when it was suitable. She knew that he needed her now more than ever, and she knew she was ready to spend an eternity holding him if need be.

......