You know how some songs sound like they’re speaking just to you, quiet and close? That’s exactly what One Last December does. Marie Bongiovano sings it with a deep, silken rhythm – calm, rich, filled with yearning. She doesn’t yell or force it – her voice pulls you in slow. Hurt and hope aren’t fighting here – they move together, gentle, side by side.
Marie’s been writing songs forever – tales she jotted down as a child, way before fame knocked. Love slipping away? She knows it. Nights wide awake next to someone struggling? Lived it. That gut-wrenching feeling? Hers too. This tune doesn’t scream heartbreak – it quietly asks you to remember love right before it shifts.
There’s a quiet ease in how the tune flows – smooth undercurrents, a warm pulse. Not pretending everything’s perfect, yet not dragging past pain around. Her voice slips into the sound like it belongs there, no force, just flow. The music holds space without grabbing too tight. Like sharing silence that doesn’t need words. Almost like swaying near closing time, when the world outside still waits, untouched by this glow.
What stings most? The raw truth in every word. No angry aftermath here. Not about trashing memories or cutting ties for good. Instead, it’s whispering thanks again, stepping off quietly, heart holding on just a bit while moving out. One Last December doesn’t crash shut – just eases closed, like turning pages slow, glancing back one last time.
If you’re after a song that grabs your heart – yet treats it soft – this is the one. Not loud, but deep; like talking to yourself when the lights are off. A quiet goodbye hums through, mixed with a breathy ache, all sitting inside a smooth R&B rhythm that feels close, real close.
Listen to One Last December on Spotify
Lyrics:
Why we keep pretending that this fire still burns warm?
We hold on like the weather, but our seasons changed the form.
Who are we fooling, baby? We’ve both seen the truth inside—
Love can fade so gently that we barely even realize.
You say, “I’m sorry,” and I nod like it’s enough,
But you’re tired of my relapses, I’m tired of being tough.
We’re two hearts holding on to something slipping through our hands
Still loving out of habit more than loving who we am.
Why don’t we walk away with dignity and grace?
Leaving doesn’t mean we never loved, it just means we need new space.
We keep hurting one another trying so damn hard to stay—
But maybe love means knowing when to gently walk away.
Let’s make the most of these holidays, one last December night…
Then come January, baby… we’ll go and find our light.
I see the way you look at me, like searching for the past,
But all the good intentions in the world can’t make pain last.
We built a life together, but the cracks are showing through—
And loving you is killing me like loving me is killing you.
We keep rewriting stories we already lived before,
Replay the same apologies like we’re stuck behind a door.
My heart says, “Maybe stay,” my soul says, “Let it go,”
And deep inside I know that peace is something we both owe.
Why don’t we walk away with dignity and grace?
Leaving doesn’t mean we never loved, it just means we need new space.
We keep hurting one another trying so damn hard to stay—
But maybe love means knowing when to gently walk away.
Let’s make the most of these holidays, one last December night…
Then come January, baby… we’ll go and find our light.
Can we hold each other one last time without the pain?
Can we kiss like we remember, even knowing it won’t stay?
One last Christmas morning, one last New Year’s toast—
Let’s celebrate the memories of the ones who loved the most.
Why don’t we walk away with dignity and grace?
Letting go don’t mean the love was wrong—it just means it changed its shape.
We’re two good people trying, but we lost our way to “us”—
Now peace is calling softly, telling both of us to trust.
So let’s treasure this December, every moment warm and bright…
Then come January, baby…
We’ll let each other find what’s right.
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