Wishing

It's Christmas Eve and I'm sitting in my bed. My brain has reminded me of a conversation I had a few days ago. A friend in Anatomy class asked if I had made a wish this holiday season. I finished that conversation with a half-hearted reply of "It's complicated" and joked about how the wish should be materialistic and self-centered. I was smiling, but inside I could feel the pangs of loss. My thoughts were hundreds of miles away, focused on The Boy. He's the missing half of my soul, my best-friend, and is no longer a part of my life. I'm old enough to understand the concept of Santa Clause is for the amusement of young children. Although right now I wish there were a Santa. Because I have a wish I'd like granted. It is a bit selfish, self-centered even. But it comes from deep inside this aching heart. This holiday season, I want nothing more than my faith in love to be restored. Call it a wish, or a prayer, but the fundamentals of it are simple. So Santa, it would be great if this year you could please leave me a bag of hope.