Joyeux Noel

Christmas Eve 11.47pm

I have all that I need and most of what I want.

I have pretty things. Blocks of wood with deer and drooping branches punctured with text.

I have memento vivere ad augusto per angusta marked on my forearm. As the ink settles on my skin, it gives me sustenance; offering me refuge when the world begins to spin faster than it should be.

Christmas is upon us and I feel protected like the thumping beat of a soft and undeveloped fontanelle. It is a membrane like that dying blanket everyone has; it sheathes me from memories, some of which I can't forget; some of which I can't remember. Perhaps that is the beauty of this life, this journey and my destination, which makes me uneasy. Attempting to swim upstream through thunderous water, it pulls on my neck like a child would with a doll.

The levee will break and while I don't know how long it will last, I do know that it will cradle me. Just like that threadbare blanket everyone has.