The Ghost of Christmas Past
Every year I think I love Christmas. I hunt down the perfect Christmas trees, and I plan the perfect presents. I unleash all my harbored creativity on gift wrapping, and I stop eating for weeks just to make room for more Christmas dinner.
Christmas is always about coming home. From Bergen, from London, from New York. Reuniting with old friends you havent seen since last Christmas. Planning the perfect New Years Eve that is bound to be a let down, but hey, thats tradition.
And then .. As the actual week creeps up on me, when everything has been made and bought, an icy feeling starts growing in my stomach and I am the loneliest person on the planet. It happens every year, and every year I forget. Until it happens again. The feeling that something is wrong, that something is missing, is inevitable.
Every year I forget how long it takes to pass .. Perhaps I dont even notice when it does. But it must, each time, unless the icyness spirals year by year, down down down. But no. The Ghost of Christmas Past, thats what it is. A reminder of something so far gone that I can no longer identify it. An empty promise - thats what Christmas is.
Maybe next year I’ll go somewhere where the sun shines and prevents blocks of ice from growing.
