I last saw you standing in the driveway waving to my rearview mirror, cheeks dusted red with cold, fingers warm in woolen mittens.
In a chilly hotel room, I sit in front of my computer, waiting. My butt rests on a threadbare office chair in front of a wooden desk. I close my eyes and imagine I’m on the couch with you, sipping hot cocoa and watching Christmas tree lights blink. In reality, I rub my hands, ready to smile and say, “Merry Christmas!”
Thanks Rochelle for such a sweetly nostalgic prompt. Hope everyone has a merry week, however, whatever, whenever you celebrate.