The Day Before Christmas

Lyia Meta - My Ink Bleeds
Dec 23, 2025
2 min read

The day before Christmas feels magical.

Not loud. Not demanding.

Something suspended in the air.

As though I am standing at the edge of something infinitely good.

Peace. Hope. A quiet gathering of all that is gentle in the world,

held together for a moment longer than usual.

This day makes me hopeful.

And it carries a deep sadness too, because this day will pass.

A quiet reminder that nothing lasts, or all.

I remember those no longer with us

and those who were here long before this,

and I feel them in the space around me.

The edges of my vision grow dark, as if a reminder that the world holds less light than we imagine,

but even in that, something remains.

I never feel this way about birthdays or anniversaries.

Those are markers of time.

Christmas is something else entirely.

There is something about Christmas that asks us to believe.

Not in what is visible or provable,

but in what is felt.

Quietly.

Without instruction.

I think of a Christmas card I received a long time ago. It quoted an editorial written in 1897 by Francis P. Church in response to a young girl named Virginia O’Hanlon. The line remains, almost untouched by time: “Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus.”