The Trouble with the Night Before the Night Before Christmas

Some nights like the night before the night before Christmas can find me searching for answers. Not necessarily for the big huge important (in the traditional sense) questions, but more the ones that would only affect the corners of my heart I try not to touch anymore. 

But some nights, like this eve before Christmas Eve, shine a light on old scars begging me to remember them. What happened to that boy who once proposed to me but then left me behind? He goes by a new name, but I'd still recognize those blue eyes, the voice like velvet and that Hebrew tattoo over his heart. Time may change us into strangers, but he will always be mine in memory. 

Some nights I wish I'd made different choices or that I'd fought harder or paid more attention, but then a whisper reminds me that the end came when I was too distracted and broken by grief to truly care for anyone. Pain may not be a right excuse, but I don't think it (or its lack) would've changed the outcome. He was always walking away toward the next version of himself. 

Maybe some night, years from now, when this scar begs to be seen and remembered, there will be a new chapter to the story. Perhaps some Christmas Eve eve in the future will find him happy and healthy and recovered from his own scars and finally finally the real version of who he was always meant to be. 

Some nights I just need to empty my brain out so I can sleep again.