walking home from morrisons with my christmas dinner in leeds

saturday the 4^th of december

my carrier bag i regret buying is sagging with the weight of a quorn roast, a tub of vegan ice cream, and three bottles of ciders, because apparently calories and alcoholism don’t count under the guise of festivity. on the way there i was bitter, cold, annoyed, at having to run the errand, but suddenly on the way back i feel a renowned sense of peace.

i take the backroad to keep the sense of serenity. groups of women in santa hats are laughing and stumbling into bars’ overpriced christmas themed nights. couples hold hands as they walk to the winter market to buy mulled wine and pretend the weather is better than it actually is.

i am normally bitterly hateful of christmas. why are my fingers sliding over the wet screen to put on my festive playlist? sometimes your body knows things your mind does not. or maybe that’s your subconsious. or maybe they’re the same thing.

it’s raining, soft and light, the kind of rain where if you squint hard enough at the light under the lamppost it almost looks like snow. i’m walking alone but i’ve never felt so surrounded by love and compassion.  

i let the bells and drum fills of the sweet familiar tunes rush over me but my mind is wandering, imagining the warm scene of Christmas dinner with my friends, my genuine friends, and i am happy before it has even happened.

i light my friend’s cigarette for her, because it reminds me of how precious life is in the same way this fleeting passion of festivity does. my fingerless gloves smell like bailey’s hot chocolate and woodsmoke. the harsh light of my flat’s lamp is flickering as usual, but i tell it to at least follow the beat of the music. it does.