Last night I sat in the cold apartment
watching through the window the onslaught of snow
and the holidays
I began to feel a need for nostalgia
with a good cup of tea

Wrapping myself in a blanket, I looked through a box of old letters,
cards and notes from old friends and young loves
there was a time when I thought that saving these things from the past
was the same as living in it

For which I am apologetic beyond words

I find it ironic that Dickens made the ghost of Christmas future
the looming and dark spectre
when it's the past
that would most likely haunt men's minds
during this, our most cherished time of year

Sorting through my box of tangible memories
I found someone was missing
of whom there was no picture, trinket, or trace

Getting up to make myself another cup of tea
I fought against the drafty windows
by pulling my blanket tighter
and then realized, that it was a gift from her
that was keeping me warm tonight