the messiest time of the year

it’s the messiest time of the year
there are ghosts around more corners
than i can count

ghosts of her
ghosts of me

there are too many stories i’d like to rewrite
so she would be in them
in any way other than this
than gone

but if i had to choose this existence
over one where she never existed
i would choose this one without blinking
over and over and over again

i would choose her
for as many merry christmases
as i could ever say