The house smells of cinnamon tonight.
Someone is untangling the fairy lights again,
and the little star on our Christmas tree
is leaning slightly to one side.

Outside, the streets are beginning to glow.
Windows are dressed in little golden lights,
and somewhere down the road,
I can hear a child laughing.

I used to think Christmas was about presents,
the ribbons, the shiny wrapping paper,
and waking up early to see what Santa had left.

But I think I’m beginning to understand it differently.

It’s the extra chair pulled up at the table.
It’s the people who remember to call.
It’s sharing the last piece of cake
even when you really wanted it.

And maybe, for someone,
Christmas isn’t quite so cheerful.
Maybe there’s an empty seat,
or someone they wish could be there.

I hope they find a little warmth somewhere,
in a kind stranger, a familiar song,
or a small moment that makes the day easier.

Because Christmas doesn’t have to be perfect.
The lights can flicker, the cake can burn,
and the gifts don’t always arrive on time.

Perhaps the real magic was never under the tree.

Perhaps it was always the love
we carried into the room. 🎄