Dear Santa Claus,

Everybody is asking me what I want for Christmas. But what I really want this year cannot be found at Forever 21 or the Apple store. It cannot be paid for with credit cards, cash or a check. You cannot wrap it in shiny paper and line it up along side all the other pretty packages that will be under the tree.

It isn’t possible.

Santa Claus, what I really want this year is for there to be peace in the house.

For the violence to stop in the world. For justice to be served when justice deserves to be served.

For my  sister to be happy. For my other sister to be whole and well again.

I want somebody to see me and only me and to gift me his favorite songs and to want to spend the rest of his life with me with a couple of dogs and maybe a kid. I want somebody to look at me the way my sisters boyfriends look at them. I want coffee kisses in the morning and slow dances around the kitchen at night. I want an imperfect prince charming. I want to give my healing heart to somebody who will keep it safe for me this time around. I want arguments and make ups and movie marathons. I want somebody who will get me and see all of me and love even my ugly parts. I want long conversations that do not take place in my dreams anymore. I do not want to be alone among a group of people anymore.

I’m waiting patiently Santa.

Love,

Holly

Letters I’ll Never Send

Dear You,

This is the hundredth letter that I’ve written to you. This one won’t wind up in the shoe box in my closet like the other ones. But then all those letters are gone, I trashed them three months ago when I couldn’t breathe or see from the tears. The tears you caused for the third time since I’ve known you. I waited for you for half-a-decade. I don’t know why I did, you never asked me to wait for you, You never made me any promises that you’d come back for me. You didn’t do anything wrong. I did. I let my imagination run away with me, I let myself make plans for a life and I didn’t include you, you one of the key players. I didn’t clue you in on my feelings.  I was afraid if I did, you would reject me.

I didn’t count on the rejection without ever saying a word to you. But it happened. And I’ve been spending the last 91.3105 days wondering what did wrong, what I could have done differently. Of course, I realize one of the things I could have done differently is kept my heart protected and not presented it to you without your asking for it. 

What’s done is done. I can’t turn back time and go back to that summer where I fell in love with you while we sat next to each other on a ratty, old hunter green and red pinstripes couch in a youth room that was painted in a shade of ash blue, I drank Dr. Pepper back then, you introduced me to the wonders of Starbucks and coffee. But even if I could, I don’t think I’d want to go back. You were mine for the summer. Half-a-decade later, that is finally enough for me. 

So, before I put my little black dress on and finally move on, I’m writing you this one last letter. Like the others, I’m never going to send it (that would be fair to you or to her). And  it won’t join the dozens and dozens of other letters I wrote between 2008-2013 (those are gone now anyways, they’re probably in a landfill somewhere. . . I couldn’t keep them, but I couldn’t stand the thought of them being turned into something like a composition notebook or printer paper).   

I just wanted you to know that I love you. You were my first love, I’m never going to forget that. You are part of my stories now, one day on a long car ride, I’m going to tell my kids about you. I’m going to tell them that the reason my heart beats is because you showed it how. I hope you tell your kids about me. 

I just wanted to wish you well. You and her. 

Congratulations.

Good luck.

Goodbye.

Thank you.

Love,

Holly