This time of year, you can always find me down in the dumps.
This is the first time in my life I'm on the up and up.
So upfront, you're the author of my short story, I always seem to find a way to get you to ignore me.

Setting the scene, I've been feeling cold, but best friends make this part of year meaningful.
I'll admit,
I fall in love with those I've never met, and all the places that I have never been.

It's getting cold, I'm done acting crafty,
I'm never smooth enough for someone not to catch me.


Maybe I'll get to you next year, so under our tree, in between all the cheer,
I'll be looking for a juncture in my life and when it's warmer I hope I'll be in mind.


I know that I sound hopeless and broken. I choke on every word that is spoken
And that's not a grand type- I can't decide wether or not to even try anymore.
It's just so clear, that things have changed.

This time last year, is something I can say that I miss.
Maintaining self esteem to gain some interest.


Maybe I'll get to you next year, so under our tree, in between all the cheer,
I'll be looking for a juncture in my life and when it's warmer I hope we're singing the same songs


we did last year, missing the same kids, temperature change I fear.
Where did all of my friends go? Why am I walking home alone?
Since the start, I thought I could infer...

You never came off as much of a thinker.
I'm holding my breath, I'm forgetting last year,
but Christmas without you sounds like disaster.