Christmas Is a Summoning | It’s Already Too Late

I woke up because the room was too quiet. Not empty quiet. Listening quiet.

The Christmas lights were on. Not blinking, breathing. I didn’t put up

a tree this year. I know that. Because I remember promising myself not to invite anything

in. But it was there. Bent at an impossible angle. Its shadow reached

places the walls didn’t. The ornaments weren’t decorations. They were eyes.

Each one reflecting a different version of me, older… thinner… already gone.

The angel on top was wrong. Too many wings. Too many joints. She wasn’t watching

the room. She was watching through it. I heard bells, but they didn’t