Is there a more wonderful day than Christmas at home with the family?

The magic of childhood may have worn a little, I’ll admit. For one thing, I can sleep on Christmas Eve. I never used to. Seriously. I was just too excited. The presents. The food. The fun and the playtime. The excitement bubbled up inside me until I couldn’t even think about closing my eyes. I’d try. I’d try again. But sleep would never come. I’d sneak downstairs, sit in front of the tree and just look. Look at the lights and the magic which seemed to emanate from them. Look at the piles of neatly wrapped gifts and wonder what they were. Wonder what Santa had brought me.

As I got older, I’d watch films until sleep eventually came. Although even deep into my teenage years, Christmas still held that special place in my heart. It still had that feeling where, for one day, time almost seemed to stand still. It was like entering a little void where normal business was entirely suspended. Where there was just togetherness, just merriment. My parents wouldn’t spoil us with presents, but those that they did give were given with thought and heart.

I can quite happily sleep through Christmas night now. In spades, frankly. But the day still holds a special place in my heart. Somewhere, it always will.

In the Downton Abbey finale, Lady Edith found her own happiness at last. I’d always loved her character, going off to London and making her own way. The only mark on my happiness today, if there could be any, was that I knew there was no one special in my life just now. There was nobody to message or call, to know that when I returned to London he’d be there to hold me. There’s the most wonderful feeling when you have someone, and I miss it. I miss that beautiful glow when I think of him, like the glow of Christmas just being Christmas.

I know we should just be satisfied with ourselves, I know that we’re meant to be entirely self-sufficient. But I feel lonely. I’m loving my time at home with my family, but something has opened inside me. A voice, calling, for my own family. For that special someone to protect each other.

Please, let 2016 be the year we find each other.

I may be 27, but I dread being one of those elderly singles in London. This is not Sex and the City or Bridget Jones’s Diary, making light and laughter out of being single. I don’t want children, but I do want him. I want him who looks at me every morning as though he’s thrilled that I’m there. I want him who is there in the evening when I come home. I want him who laughs when I say something ridiculous, who plunges me right back down to earth when I’ve flown away on one of my silly flights of fancy. Most of all, I want him who makes me happy.

I expect so much in a man. Hardly ever is one good enough to make me fall for him. After I’ve found it, it feels like such a miracle I can’t picture it ever happening to me again. He has to be a prince among men. A warrior, trickster and philosopher all in one.

Please, let him find me. I’m ready.


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