It's cold and white in Chicago. I'm sitting outside a window staring at a white tree centered perfectly in the large bay window of a condo on Cortland Avenue. The room behind the tree is decked in all holiday cheer, emanating a warm snug feeling that is intensified by the wind biting at my cheeks. I can imagine candy canes and sugar plums, a loving wife ready to snap a present out of my hands, scream in anticipation , and kiss me saying, "it's just what I wanted."
The wind is cold and forces my hands in my pockets. Reality is a jealous woman screaming in your ear, angry at any dream that may distract you for a moment. I continue to walk home closely watching the sidewalk in front of me, because I don't know if I can take the face of one more stranger.
Chicago is the home to over 3.5 million human beings, and, for one of them, one of the most lonely places in the world. Here you can’t see the trees through the forest. Nothing is in short supply, so nothing is really treasured. Especially when the fish in the sea words of many disenfranchised lovers is put in the storefront windows of every boutique.
The rain too is abandoned, unable to find a piece of earth to drowned itself in. Instead it gathers in puddles, and waits to either turn to ice, or be pushed to somewhere new. Standing there, watching the white tree glisten and dream, I think to myself that even cold concrete can have it's charm, it's just that those that have so little money and so much time have the patience to look. Merry Christmas
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