After two months of secrets,
of sneaking out and shivering in parked cars,
of crying in silence and holding each other when the world said not to,
December came.
And we said, “fuck it.”

We saw each other.
Not just for five stolen minutes.
We chose to see each other.
Fully. Boldly. Without asking for permission.

We saw each other for Christmas.
Right before my birthday.
And I swear, it was the best gift I could’ve asked for.

You held me like we hadn’t been forced apart.
Like our hearts didn’t carry the weight of October and November.
Like love had always looked like this,
present, laughing, real.

Everything else faded that day.
The cold didn’t matter.
The rules didn’t matter.
Nothing else existed but the way your arms wrapped around me
and made everything feel like it made sense again.

We had been quiet for so long.
Careful. Hushed.
But that day, our love was loud in the way only we could hear.
The kind of loud that thumps in your chest,
the kind that makes the world feel like it’s finally letting you breathe.

It wasn’t perfect.
None of it was.
But it was ours.
And for the first time in months,
it felt like we won.

You came back to me.
I came home to you.
And love, love didn’t just survive.
It showed up.