I was in a state of delirium. One I wasn’t quite sure if I wanted to escape. I guess that’s the limbo as Christmas Eve bleeds into Christmas Day. In my delirium, I had the sensation that I was in a UFO, of sorts, and the “rain” was just glitter falling on the windshield. As if someone exhaled too hard and the glittery powder invaded the air and coated my lung lining.
An irritated throat is a confirmation of delirium. I don’t remember much, just that the living room air was welcoming, dry, and cold; yet I could still smell the pine. I sensed the warmth of familial bonds, yet the air entering through my nose dried up my insides.
Quickly rehydrated with wine, of course.
I love Christmas. I love eating hallacas and pan de jamón. I love watching my parents laugh even though I don’t find the conversation funny. I love watching them thrive momentarily and so perfectly present.
I was still in the UFO. At least that’s what the car felt like when my parents first got it. I’m more awake now, and begrudgingly realize the rain isn’t glitter. I haven’t seen lightning in so long.