Winter’s Quiet Promise
to a missing, cherished friend
This holiday season, along with its winter chill, always calls out to me in melancholy ways. This year, less so, thanks to the love and encouragement I have received from so many here on SubStack—it may be virtual, but it is very real to me.
There is still one glaring disappointment, if it is fair to even call it that, and that is the loss of a good friend to isolation. My understanding was asked for. I have to ask myself if I am being selfish in my lament, as if what I am feeling is misplaced, insensitive or unwarranted. Are my feelings unjustified?
So, as is my way, I wrote out what I am feeling, hoping to gain a better understanding. It came out jumbled, unrhymed, so I just left it as free verse, only organising it so it was legible (I hope it is).
The dawn’s twilight creeps soft, a pale and cautious hush,
light begins to spill like a secret across the frozen room,
where once your words wove golden threads through morning air.
My dearest friend, days get longer, unwind without a word from you.
Absent posts, empty chat channels, echo hollow like winter woods,
no footprints in fresh snow mark your journey back to an us.
Your insights, a constellation I once navigated by,
now distant stars veiled behind isolation’s cloud.
You’ve chosen hikikomori, a cocoon of silent walls and shadows,
a season of discontent and divestment where echo fades to nothingness.
Yet my understanding stands solid as does the evergreen outside;
rooted deep in patience beneath frost’s chill embrace.
I carry you in prayers whispered under breath, into the chill night air,
and hold your name in thoughts that stretch between us like fragile thread,
connecting our two worlds, caught in quiet solitude.
This Christmas season and the heart it touches longs for your return.
The cold weighs heavy, sadness presses upon an empty heart
yet hope weaves a quiet resolve beneath darkened skies.
Life seems more distant, roads forked into mist, as trust burns quietly,
a promise kept beyond absence and shadow’s fall—forever and a day.
Compassion swells within me, for your struggles known but unseen,
and love endures beyond the loneliness where you choose to dwell.
My sullen soul sings softly through winter’s icy breath,
a call for a new dawn and reunion, for peace after storms inside your storm.
No matter how far you wander inward or how silent your retreat,
my hand remains outstretched through time, steadfast till your return.
In this hour before light fully breaks, know you are missed beyond measure,
that friendship is the hearth fire waiting patiently with open doors.
©Thomas Crandall, December 2025
It's so hard to reconcile when someone chooses to isolate (even when you might be able to understand why they've chosen it). How could it not feel personal? All you can do is exactly what your gorgeous poem reflects, and that is to extend your hand when they're ready to return. I'm elated that you've found solace and comfort in this Substack community, Thom!
My heart goes out to you Thom. I'm hearing the ache of loss and longing, but also of honor in what you shared with us. I believe that sometimes our part is to create what beauty we can from chaos. It is chaos to us when someone so close is not there anymore...a loss of companionship, being heard, being held in the way nobody else can. We are each so unique and thus bring something that cannot be fully replaced. Then, I read the beauty of what you shared like an offering, open-handed. And a bit of the chaos is transformed into the beauty you've been courageous to release here and you've invited us to be witnesses and to hold it with you. Thank you Thom for naming what you have from the deep well of who you are.