My moving hand writes on and on,
No matter what I say,
I cannot bring him to erase,
That cold December day.

The day was sad and wearisome,
It chilled me to my core,
I’d known that something would go wrong,
Though I could not be sure.

I’d felt so tired and lonely, still,
My heart had ached for him,
Beneath the Christmas trim.

I knew that things between us changed,
I’d felt it in the air,
No longer would he speak to me,
Or touch my face or hair.

His silence slowly poisoned me,
My anger rose too quick,
We screamed out such profanity,
I’d never felt more sick.

His silence is much stronger now,
It plays a different tune,
A song of sad abandonment,
It is my Clair De Lune.

I won’t forget that Christmas Eve,
I always will remember,
The night I made that one mistake,
The End of my December.


“You never truly know what you have until it’s gone.” – Katie

Sandra Reynolds

Sandra Reynolds

Editor at NY Literary Magazine
Sandra earned her B.A. in English. She works part-time as a freelance writer and proofreader. Sandra was born in Massachusetts and currently resides in NYC with her fiance and their adorable pug.
Sandra Reynolds