He does not know whether it actually feels like Christmas after all. Does it feel like childish excitement, a breeze of fresh starts, and support of loved ones? Since the day Woody saw her in the window of a souvenir shop, full of beauty and warm colors, he could not think of anything else. She was tender perfection; she had ocean-sized marvelous eyes, full of everything but life. The dress from the Victorian era made this wonderful creature even more mysterious and appealing. Obsessed with her, he again thought how pitiful he felt with his soul trapped in a toy, this instrument for entertainment executed through personal sacrifice. It was the twentieth identical thought he had during the past few hours.
Gloria. He thought her name was Gloria, and he even decided the name was so perfect for her that nobody else on this gigantic planet deserved to be called like that. The fragile symbiosis of mystery and courtesy made Woody think she was the personification of majesty. Moreover, it was that kind of majesty that left men like him miserable because he knew that nothing could diminish his willingness to give her everything she wanted.
On Tuesday, he accidentally dived into her eyes for the very first time. Nobody can say exactly how many Tuesdays have passed since then. It was in the window of a small souvenir shop on Central Street. Such shops are usually left unnoticed by the locals, and Woody detested himself for paying attention to it. Every single day he sneaked out of the house just to catch her glance for another second. Sometimes, he thought that even if his brain atrophied, he would still go to Gloria’s residence by inertia.
He was so captured by his feelings that only a Christmas tree on Central Street the other day made Woody realize what season it was. Life no longer consisted of days for him, it seemed more of a combination of those seconds he caught her eye. He remembered how impatiently and desperately he was always waiting for every Christmas season. Every, except for this year, when the fear of unrequited love replaced all his feelings. Woody could not realize what was happening to him and for how long he would be able to survive this torture. Perhaps, everyone felt that at least once in his or her life. The most magical time of the year was helpless in the face of love agony.
Every day, when Woody came to see Gloria, he was hoping she would bless him with an almost imperceptible smirk so that he knew there was the slightest chance of liking. However, the only thing he saw was a face as implicit as her magnificent Victorian dress. That morning, when he once again ran to the cherished rendezvous, was no different from the previous ones. Woody carefully climbed through the fence, and his legs carried him to Central Street. There is not a suitable word to describe his face when the window he longed to see was covered with emptiness. Woody’s eyes were as desperate to meet Gloria’s glance as they were disillusioned to see nothing in the shop but a reflection in the window.
Almost ready to say goodbye to his wonderful adventure, he suddenly turned to the Christmas tree. The Christmas tree Woody was unwilling to look at any time he was around, tenderly covered Gloria with its branches. Gloria was standing there, marvelous as always, and a small table that said “Christmas Fair” lay at her foot. Stressed out, Woody almost failed to notice the slight change on her face. She smiled at him for a split second, and when he realized what happened, Gloria was no longer different from all those Tuesdays before. It did feel like Christmas, after all.