Here's a sad poem I wrote, plumbing the depths of my heart

I Miss Christmas (aka "I'm Uncomfortable With Reality")

I miss looking for special ornaments in windows while I walk around.
I miss seeing lights on trees inside apartments.
I miss pine wreaths.
I miss thinking about what to get people and wondering what I might get.
Christmas come back.
Christmas, come on, come back.
I hate it when you end.
I like unopened presents under the tree.
I like the planning and plotting.
I like the smell of pine.
I like Santas and angels.
I like picking wrapping paper.
I miss having a reason to call family.
I even like Christmas music.