No More Merry Little Christmas

I remember walking home from the train. The air was cold while I watched as my breath change into white smoke. My cheeks would quickly turn pink by the whispering breeze as my feet would sink into the powdered ground. This is my special memory; it is my tea ceremony. Noria will never get the chance to understand this; she will never see how the houses are consumed in christmas lights of blue, green, or FUCHSIA!!! And please do not get me started on the hot chocolate with the mini marshmallows floating on top! But the only relation she has is submerging her hands into a bowl of ice or hearing stories of snowflakes from her mom. There is such a sadness for the emptiness of the past. The cracked cup of her graduation ceremony is all she has left. The wrinkles on the porcelain finish is the separation between her world and ours.