29/12/2025
"๐ฃ๐ฎ๐ฐ๐ธ๐ฒ๐ฑ, ๐ฌ๐ฒ๐ ๐ฆ๐๐ถ๐น๐น ๐๐ฒ๐ฟ๐ฒโ
Christmas had already learned how to leaveโ
lights dimmed, with no reason left to grieve.
Songs withdrew into memory,
carols folding quietly into air,
and the house grew still, stripped bare.
I was meant to goโwe all are, eventually,
once joy fades into something distant.
When the echoes of our choices linger,
wonder begins to whisper:
Everyone carries a quiet weight.
When the noise of living softens, home callsโ
not loudly, not urgently, but the way old friends do.
And I asked myself, heart growing numb,
Should I stay where I once belonged?
Would I linger in the shelter of once-warm days,
or step away even as my feet froze at the door?
Either way, remembering tasted both bitter and sweet.
To reminisce was to admit
that some feelings never leave cleanly.
I packed my life into a waiting bag,
lined my boots by the doorstep.
Yet something familiar
weighed more than everything I carriedโ
a heaviness no luggage could hold.
My feet forgot how to move,
as if leaving was a language they were never taught.
I knew my body had to return
to days that rush the heart.
But my mind and soul refused to roam,
pressed into this quiet tenderness,
still searching for a word gentle enough to call home.
No feast remained, no songs in tuneโ
just plates untouched since afternoon.
Cold leftovers, muted tones,
Christmas after it had already gone.
I stayed because leaving felt heavier than staying,
because it felt like losing more than time.
Some homes donโt beg, donโt ask, donโt pleadโ
they simply hold you still
until youโre ready to face the world again.
And so I stayed,
just a little longer than planned,
held by a warmth that was not grand,
but real.
A memory learning how to remain,
long after Christmas
learns how to fade.
๐๏ธ: Aleah Quiamno, Junior Broadcaster
