Christmas at 6AM
I walked like someone
who had just been forgiven,
but still didn’t know the way home.
It was because I overslept
in your room—
the hush of your breath
still stitched to my collar.
The rice fields were mist-drenched,
the sky blushing faintly,
as if it, too,
had seen us.
Your kiss lingered
like it didn’t want to leave my lips,
like it forgot
the night was over.
You were still sleeping
when I slipped out.
I didn’t wake you.
I didn’t have to.
My heart was loud enough.
The morning was surreal—
a scene too gentle
for someone like me
to be walking through.
It was Christmas.
But all I could carry
was the quiet
and the weight
of everything
I didn’t say
before the door clicked shut.
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