December 7th, 2025

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Dear Julia,

 

It’s that time of the year. Last year I didn’t write since we were not in a good moment. I think/hope we are better now, so I thought writing to you might help me catch up with my pending task and end this year with some kind of relief. I wish that you only think of me when you read this: not before, not after, only when you read this. I wouldn’t want to be the reason of your nuisance in dates like this.

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I think I never explained in detail why is it that this season gets so challenging, and I won’t do it now, anyways. It has mutated over the years, mostly since I accepted the fact that I won’t get back to the days when I was childishly happy with no effort whatsoever. Either way, I miss having someone to complain with about everything that comes at me these days.

 

I am guessing you’re proudly happy with the love of your partner, your faithful friends, and your family. It struck me to see how little Salma has grown into a beautiful, candid creature. She looks so much like you that it wouldn’t be crazy for me to imagine that a stranger might confuse her as your daughter rather than your sister.

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As is customary during this month, I went through some of my most recent memories and, god gracious, how sad this year’s been without you. It’s inevitable for me not to think about all the cool things we could have done in moments like this, as normal friends do, as great friends plan.

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It’s been so long that I don’t even remember if you like these holidays or not. I have forgotten most of the important things in an attempt to move on, to free me from the ghost of our bond. Whether you’re lighting candles or wrapped up in your bedsheets, I hope you don’t feel as lonely and hopeless as I tend to feel this time of the year.

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I used to preach about the reasons not to like these days. Can you imagine? I was that grumpy and annoying. Now I am just grumpy, I guess. I try to let everyone else enjoy as much as they can, even though it irritates me that not even at home I get a shred of silence. There’s nowhere near to get some silence, and there won’t be for some time.

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I miss you. I think that’s probably all I really want to say. I’d love to know if you miss me too. I’d like to know if, like me, nostalgia comes down on you and makes you think of writing to me too in times like this. Truth is, I haven’t stopped fantasizing about our story not being over yet, that we still ought to give it a proper ending. I have thought about stumbling upon you on the street, or finding your parents grocery-shopping at the market. I have imagined so many ways in which to give this its closure. In the end, though, I know I should be able to give it a rest without a grand finale.

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I’ll always find comfort in writing to you because that’s the only way I barely feel your judgement. You once said you liked the way I wrote. I hope I haven’t lost my touch.

Hope to see you soon.

 

Merry Christmas,

Benjen.