Everyday stories #37
A Christmas Letter
Sometimes, we don’t know why we are happy
At night, at two o’clock, in the snow, in an almost disused station,
Jacob may be the last man on Earth listening to the stars,
to the shivering of the lime trees.
Maybe he does, because of the untidy beard, the oversized coat,
but he is not really old.
Simply, he resembles the vapor you make when breathing,
which has the shape of a cloud for a few moments, and then disappears.
A woman watches him,
from behind the glass of the waiting room that has been closed for years.
A cup in her hands, her watch, her orange turtleneck jumper.
Jacob blinks,
the woman is no longer there,
the woman is the glitter of a frozen flake.
Yet, on an afternoon of war against the whole world, or innocent, waiting for love;
she smiled,
she thought it was worth it.
And that thought remained there, drawing curls on the fogged glass.
And Jacob can touch it;
that thought waiting, without company, son of patience.
Sometimes, we don’t know why we are happy.
Unexpectedly. A hope floating in the air.
A good intention.
It touches us, it woos us, it enters our souls.
And it lasts as long as it can last.
As long as we try to make it last.
Jacob bows his head,
reveres that happiness that is not his, that does not belong to him,
that he has a duty to guard.
To give.
So that it endures from heart to heart.
Jacob thinks of a Tibetan cap, of a new song, of walking into the night.
The trains at rest, the blurred lights, the fogged glass remain.
A tenacious desire.
An unexpected happiness.
Like a short, disarming, provident
Christmas letter.
Merry Christmas time, and unexpected happiness to give!
