Last Christmas as a Child
Tia-Roma Williams
Christmas is around the corner,
you can almost smell it—
that mix of cinnamon, pine,
and something quietly fading in the air.
The lights go up again,
the same ones that tangled every year,
and the same songs play in every shop,
but this time… they sound different.
Maybe it’s because we’ve grown taller,
or quieter,
or because Santa stopped writing back,
but still—
part of me wants to believe he will.
We’re standing in that in-between place,
where magic still lingers
but reality’s tapping on the windowpane.
One last Christmas where the world feels small,
safe,
wrapped up in paper and dreams.
We’ll still hang stockings,
we’ll still laugh too loud,
but something in our hearts knows—
this is the last one before life starts to stretch out,
before the world asks us to stop pretending
and start becoming.
So this year,
I’ll hold onto every flicker of light,
every snowflake that dares to fall,
every moment that feels like it could last forever.
Because next Christmas,
we’ll still be us—
just older,
different,
a little braver,
but never too far from the kid we used to be.
So here’s to the last Christmas as a child,
to the warmth that still believes,
and to the grown-up heart
that promises never to forget
what it feels like
to wake up to wonder.