It’s been a long time since I could remember,
The special meaning behind December.
The feeling of joy and anticipation,
The love of giving and decoration.

Last Christmas was a broken dream,
Of what was supposed to come and be.
Of a little child that was meant to enjoy,
The love, the laughter, and every toy.

Instead we opened quiet gifts.
We read letters to someone dearly missed.
Our hearts were raw, exposed and shattered.
But others needed Christmas, so it didn’t matter.

We participated in the holiday cheer,
While Christmas was in no way near.
And looking back at that time now,
I’m sure the pain numbed us somehow.

This year, as time has marched us forward.
And we should have so much to look towards.
I still can’t help but to miss the missing.
I still can’t help but to get to wishing.

Wishing for the little child,
The one who should be running wild.
Wishing for our  life to change its track,
That somehow, we could have him back.

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