You –

to collect my soul

and turn it into a piece of jigsaw windtunnel;

And I –

To free yours,

to place a hole inside a whole.

It’s murder

and we’re both mercenaries of wishful thinking,

So I bid you goodbye.

Deluded youngsters will say “YES, he’s real, he lives in the Noth Pole and circles the world every Christmas in his magic sledge powered by flying reindeer to give good children lots and lots of presents!!!!” and cynics will laugh a little too quickly and a little too loudly and inform you how ridiculous this belief is, secretly remembering the disappointment they felt when they found out that this fantastic man in a red suit was a myth.

Yet some very special few know that nobody will descend through their chimney on Christmas Eve. They know that the man with the white beard they saw at the mall isn’t the same as the one at Walmart. They know there are no reindeer named Rudolph, Dasher, Dancer, etc. And still, they smile as they leave milk and cookies on the table for ‘Santa’ to eat.

Love is not abouth myth; it’s about spirit.

On a day like any other day.

An ordinary day.

It’s the unsubscribe button.

I hope you’re still up for it.