Every time December comes, I seem to soften.
The air gets colder, but my heart warms—a strange combination, isn't it?
I walk the streets, listening to the crunch of snow underfoot, and it seems to me that this month smells not of tangerines, not of a Christmas tree... but of hope.

Hope that something bright lies ahead.
That miracles don't just happen in movies.
That there's a man who will one day understand my nuanced feelings with half a word.

I love December because it allows me to dream without shame.
To hide in a warm scarf and think about the tenderness I so long to give to someone real.
Not someone who just happened to peek into my life, but someone with whom my breath, my steps, my silence will align.

New Year's isn't just a holiday for me.
It's the moment where I quietly whisper to myself:
"You have the right to happiness. And it's already out there."

If you're reading this... maybe you're that one?
December loves surprises, after all. ✨