Same Tradition, Brand New Door

'Twas the morning of Christmas Eve, lights glowing bright. New keys, new walls,

still dust in the light. We've hosted before, but this feels brand new.

Different place, same heart, me and you. Boxes still stacked, paint drying slow.

Seven and a half months and I still go. Every little touch feels bigger somehow.

We're building more than a party now. Blood, sweat,

tears in these rooms we chose. Half-done walls, but the love still shows.

Clock keeps ticking, we're almost there. You can feel the magic in the air.

Same tradition, brand new door. First Christmas here, there'll be so many more.