January 13thI was driving home, and it was Christmas Eve. I thought I heard a song on the radio. A Christmas song I had heard so often, so much, that I heard the voice of the woman singing about angels. The snow flurries that leaked fat and listless onto my windshield and the plastic blinking lights that tried to make the cookie-cutter brick houses all look magic. They knew the truth.
They knew the song wasn’t playing. The woman wasn’t singing.
The thing was, I heard the song so many times before that I was hearing it without it even playing, as clearly, and as perfectly as anything.
After a while you recognize that you might forget the words, but you know the way it should go, you know that things will always turn out the same. Some people think this is comfortable but to me it was thi
