A Christmas Night

I have an image about Christmas in my mind. I don’t really know when and how the image had formed so beautifully in my imagination, this because of the fact that I have never celebrated Christmas. I am putting it down here.

It’s snowing outside. Christmas after all! The day before, I had managed to make a snowman in front of my house to greet any passer by. You cannot imagine how beautiful my house is. It’s like a fairy tale cottage. Small yet comfortably big, large windows, a warm fire place, a small kitchen that opens to a huge dining room, a glittering Christmas tree, my library corner, loads of Christmas decorations in green and red, a mini bar and scented candles burning in every corner. I am busy slicing away a delicious looking X-mas cake topped with dry fruits and crispy nuts. I smilingly look at the person on the other side of the hall, singing softly to me while he strikes magic with his guitar strings. I have made a variety of sweets and 4-course feast. I have a secret X-mas gift for him and I am sure he has one for me too. A surprise gift every Christmas knowing to what extent, a surprise, it could be. The house smells of cinnamon and cardamom despite of the scented candles. He assures me it is okay to smell spice on a Christmas day. I non-willingly agree and look out of the window, into the night that promises me a year filled with happiness and love. Everything looks so heavenly and perfect. I am happy. He is happy. We seem to have been enjoying every single moment of that night.

Stop!

This is the image. The best part is that I don’t see further. It’s a moving image though. Everything moves here, but nothing happens further (one other post that is similar to this feeling). Every year when Christmas is close I sit back and think of this image. And let me tell you I have always been cutting cakes. He has always been singing and playing his guitar. The house always smells of cinnamon. The snowman never melted it seems. And the candles have been burning forever. Ah! I have nothing more to say, but a Merry Christmas to you.

I have…

…elaborate answers for all your intimate questions, but I reply only in countable words, because every answer is a step to understanding every bit of me. Why should I tell you everything about myself? So that you can forget that you were once interested in me?!