Hey Santa, it’s me, Christine

I know it’s been a long time since I last talked to you. You probably don’t even remember me. You probably have forgotten all about me. I don’t know why I stopped writing. The days just slipped cautiously into other days and suddenly here I am. It’s been like, what, 15 years?

You didn’t eat the cookies I left out for you.

I don’t even have a chimney. I have a cold apartment. No radiator. I lock the doors. I live in the city.

No, I’m not blaming you. You could’ve tried harder though, you know?

Part of me doesn’t want you to exist, but the other part of me depends on the very possibility of your existence.

Maybe you are all one big lie started by the government to make us all good little boys and girls.

Maybe you will redefine my life.

It’s dark here. All my friends have left. They are singing Christmas Carols. They are wearing festive sweaters. They are drinking eggnog. They are powerful in red and green. They are tinsel and flashing lights. They are the Virgin Mary in the manger standing over the baby Jesus. They have heard your reindeer click.

I don’t know why I’m still here.

I hoped that if I stare at the Christmas tree long enough it would start to make sense. Little blinking lights. Candy canes.

All I want for Christmas is you. Fuck world peace.

Is it all a lie?

Santa Claus is dead.

What’s that? Do I hear sleigh bells? No, it’s just the breaking of my heart.