the plate of waffles before me stares golden brown (like that song by the stranglers) with white tips where the batter could not quite fill the squares of heat. i add my butter and as the syrup pours, filling each tiny square, my heart too sinks and invisible tears stream down my face. the smell of fresh cardboard dyed with red ink and white send shivers through my body and goose bumps up my leg, even though i still hide underneath gray fleece and blue flannel. i am tuned out and tuned into godspeed, you black emperor as my eyes dart across the pages of written on the body...my christmas book, hoping to find solace in someone else, even though the narrator is imaginary. my toes are cold as i am not dressed but in pajamas i do not have the energy to get out of for i have to be at work in an hour and a half. i deserve my shitty day, even though the sun shines brightly outside and the chords of the songs playing on the strereo are major and not minor. my christmas is the build up of all i didn't know and all that i can kick myself about for time to come. i am joyous today for different reasons, mainly because i made it through the night and am sitting here with a passion to write. they don't know anything is wrong, my mother and my sister i mean, because it seems easy today for me to hide a fractured heart. i know that it will heal, because i am young enough to believe. but until then, i stay quiet. my arms and legs prickle with the spines of cold, both literally and mentally. i face my repercussions, but with downcast eyes that bleed into my heart. i hate being sad, but i have sad eyes. eyes that share the struggle i've learned comes often. you're allowed to worry about me, so why can i not worry about you?