December is especially celebratory. There are birthdays, US holidays with lights and memorials that come into play.

In an effort to be less of an asshole I become less ‘strict’, less focused on applying rules of protection which basically means anyone who was shut out is allowed to come in, but I don’t do it for me – I do it for them.

He hugged me during one such occasion, maybe to offer thanks and gratitude for the holiday – I can’t be sure, but when stepping back he looked at me in a way to suggest that because the walls were down a chance might exist to reconcile.

His frame was smaller than I remembered and he seemed fragile and filled with sorrow. I stepped back and turned away before excusing myself to my room to cry. I still hated him but didn’t dare disclose why. I cried because it was sin to hate someone for who they couldn’t be and for all the times I’d turned that hatred inward to me.

I cried because I knew I’d never loved him in the way I hoped to and because I’d loved another in a way never planned. I still loved him but didn’t dare disclose why. I cried because it was tragedy to love someone for who they were and wanted to be and for all the times I’d turned that love outward and away from me.

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