Christmas at 6AM

I walked like someone who had just been forgiven, but still didn’t know the way home. It was because I overslept in your room— the hush of your breath still stitched to my collar. The rice fields were mist-drenched, the sky blushing faintly, as if it, too, had seen us. Your kiss lingered like it didn’t want to leave my lips, like it forgot the night was over. You were still sleeping when I slipped out. I didn’t wake you. I didn’t have to. My heart was loud enough. The morning was surreal— a scene too gentle for someone like me to be walking through. It was Christmas. But all I could carry was the quiet and the weight of everything I didn’t say before the door clicked shut.