A CHRISTMAS WITHOUT YOU
The church bells' solemn chimes echo through the street, casting a mournful shadow over what should be a joyful time.
Yesterday, the sun hid away, too ashamed to show its face. When it finally emerged, the ground beneath me seemed to weep in sorrow.
My lips are sore, plagued with painful sores, each one a reminder of the debts that linger, causing me more pain.
My skin feels rough, like a chalkboard covered in bristles. Even wrapped in blankets, I can't escape the chill of the harmattan wind.
This is Christmas without you. My tree stands dark blue instead of vibrant green, and the lights are dimming, exhausted from shedding too many tears.
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