Those absent sleep on Christmas night

Those who are absent sleep on Christmas night. A title I just read of a long article I did not even skim. I know the content will be depressing, just like our country, a eulogy of Lebanon, Beirut, of what we were, of all the emptiness lingering in the toxicity of the acid rain pouring on the naked backs of the poor.

Those who are absent sleep on Christmas night. They sleep the joy away, in their graves, in a foreign country, in the hearts of all those they have left behind.

I’m listening to Vixen by Miguel, and my soul is slow dancing with yours in every moment. My stomach is hurting because I am drinking a coffee jug before having breakfast, and I just apologized for attending a Christmas dinner.

I am in bliss right now, well aware of the melancholy awaiting, but for now, it is alright. It is Christmas, and I always feel more than okay on Christmas.

Last night, my friends celebrated my birthday a month and 23 days late, and it was funny. I am now looking at a giant moodboard-like portrait of my friends, and as much as it is giving me joy, I ache for all those absent.

We have lost a lot, I have lost a lot, yet I prospered, healed. I grew more than I wanted. But this is for another post.

Plans for today?

I need to finish all my work in the upcoming two hours as we have an early release today, and I need to shop for my secret Santa then meet up with my friends for our photography lessons. I haven’t figured out the rest of my day yet, but I’m sure it will be a good one.

Wishing you the most peaceful Christmas night. Wishing you love, now and always.