Shadows of Christmas Past
"Where do you plan to travel someday?" you asked.
"Italy," I replied. "I would love to see the ancient ruins and primeval cities firsthand. And you know how much I adore pasta." Those dreams had long since faded into memory; at least, since meeting you. Now, the destination matters less than your company. "How about you?"
We walked along an empty sidewalk, identical lamp posts standing sentinel, casting pools of light for late-night wanderers like us. Our direction was uncertain, but that hardly seemed to matter.
"London," you murmured.
"Why?"
"Well, who doesn't dream of visiting London someday?"
"How original," I teased.
"Shut up." Your soft chuckle melted into the night air as we continued down the darkening path, the lamp posts' glow increasingly overwhelmed by encroaching shadows.
"Are you afraid of the dark?" I asked, noticing how the darkness deepened with each step.
"Somewhat. It's not the darkness itself that frightens me - it's what might lurk within it. You know how my imagination runs wild with shadowy figures."
"Well," I paused, choosing my words carefully, "perhaps darkness is merely a canvas for your fears - they exist only because your mind wills them into being. They're illusions, just like your fear of the dark. You could change your mindset, or—" I extended my hand, "—you could just hold onto me instead."
"Oh, you opportunist," you whispered, your fingers intertwining with mine as if they'd found their missing piece. Even in the dim light, your eyes held that familiar captivating gleam, but tonight they seemed different - like they harbored a secret waiting to be discovered. Despite my confusion, I could see pure joy radiating from your gaze.
Still holding my hand, you asked, "Speaking of fears, what scares you, Mr. Freethinker?"
I tightened my grip, eliminating any space between our joined hands. "I'm not afraid of heights, death, or darkness," I confessed softly. "I fear standing atop a skyscraper without you beside me to share in the city lights. I'm afraid of dying before building a simple yet meaningful life with you - something I've always dreamed of. But most of all," my voice wavered, "I fear walking this shadowy path only to find you gone."
In that moment, you began to fade before my eyes, becoming ethereal and translucent. Just before vanishing completely, your lips moved in a silent message - one unspoken but always known. Your content smile was the last to disappear, leaving me alone on the path.
The darkness suddenly lifted, replaced by festive lights from every direction. The previous silence transformed into a symphony of holiday songs, hymns, and cheerful voices. It was Christmas Eve.
"I love you, too," I whispered to the empty air.
The festive lights began to blur and spin, reality crashing down like shattered glass. I found myself in my dimly lit apartment, slumped in an armchair, an old photograph trembling in my hands. The sidewalk, the lamp posts, your touch - all fragments of a mind desperate to recreate what was lost. The holiday music I'd heard was just my neighbor's radio filtering through thin walls.
Three years had passed since that actual Christmas Eve when you left, yet my mind still conjured these vivid encounters. The Italy conversations, the London dreams, the intertwined fingers - memories twisted into waking dreams that felt more real than my empty apartment. The doctors called it grief-induced hallucinations, but I called them moments stolen back from time.
I placed the photograph face-down on the side table, your smile hidden but not forgotten. The Christmas lights outside my window blurred into streaks of color, much like that night when you faded away. Only this time, as consciousness properly returned, I understood that both versions of losing you - the real and the imagined - were equally painful.
"Merry Christmas," I whispered to the empty room, knowing that these episodes would return, these beautiful, torturous moments when my mind would gift me with your presence, if only to lose you again.
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