The sad December 25th ( Too sad to be called Christmas)
And there she stayed sipping coffee out of her cup and potrating his helpless face. She was silent. She had finished her story and left him stabbed with a broken heart and leaving him wounded with the pieces of information she conveyed. He couldn't touch his cup. A thick layer of fat was getting over the cup with the decreasing temperature both in the cup and heart of a betrayed( that's what he felt) a guy who was not sensible enough to understand life, what it was or what it conveyed. hours passed and harldy there was any talk. He didn't touch his cup while she stayed there finishing her story and cup both being at the same time. she was moving apart from him, far apart what she presented was a compulsion, his view of it was a choice. But seeing far and apart seemed good for her future, she was going to live up to her dreams and potentials, (at least he could sit there saying that,) it felt good to think it that way. He was sitting there like an idiot not realising when s