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You’re asking far too much of me,

I’m not the girl you want me to be, no.

Endless tears that I have cried,

You said you cared, you must have lied, oh.

Spun golden tales to ease my fears,

Those pretty words, they disappear

Turns out it was only ever about you.

Trapped in this cage, I can’t break out,

Left with heartache, left with doubt.

It’s clear now that you never really knew me.

Squealing tires on the road,

Left before the corpse was cold,

Keep on running.

Buried my feelings,

Buried our dreams,

Buried our future,

Bit back my screams.

Keep on running.

You can’t lose and I can’t win,

Mourning all that could have been,

Sink down deep under my skin,

Again, and again, and again, and again.

December 24

Christmas Eve.

The last day of the season for Hidden Acres Christmas Tree Farm, and I’ve never been so glad for it to be over.

Harried families rush around, trying to find the perfect tree they can decorate “right quick.” Last-minute shoppers pop into the gift shop hoping to find a gift for an unexpected guest or a neighbor who’s “fixin’ to drop by with a present later today.” Racks stand empty where handmade wreaths and centerpieces were on display before we sold out. The bins at the Festive & Free stall are picked bare, with only bits of pine cones and sawdust left.

At five p.m., Mom flips the Open sign to Closed in the gift shop window. For the first time since Thanksgiving, Dad chains off the parking lot and puts out our See You Next Year! road sign.

I clip leads onto Dunder and Blixem and guide them out of their temporary pen. Blixem grunts and paws at the ground, shoving her snout into a clump of pine needles. “C’mon, ladies,” I say, giving the lead a gentle tug.

They don’t seem in any rush to get back to the barn, and I’m in no rush to get back to the farmhouse. Everyone’s been so busy with Christmas stuff, it’s been easy to slip in and out without anyone noticing. But Halley’s home now, and we’ll be spending plenty of family time together. I just know she’s going to have a million questions I don’t want to answer.

The reindeers’ harnesses jingle as we walk, their feet click, click, clicking as we mosey along. A slow, lazy rhythm that reminds me of Elvis’s “Blue Christmas.” In my head, I can hear his deep bluesy timber, the way his tone is so melancholy and sad.