It happens every Christmas Eve. Strangers gather in the park across my window, each holding a white candle. I’d watched for years, never joining. Tonight, I stood among them, the flames casting soft shadows. A woman beside me met my eyes, her faint smile heavy with a sorrow I recognized. The silence pressed close, but the warmth of the candles and the crowd’s quiet understanding reached me. My breath hitched, then eased, as if my weight was finally shared. In their presence, grief softened, and for the first time, I felt something close to peace.
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"Classic"
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