Always With Me
The photo she would have picked, and the line that finally says it out loud.
The photo she would have picked, and the line that finally says it out loud.
Everything in this house started as something she planted.
The photos deserved better than a folder called 2021 final.
Christmas grew by one, and it will never be this small again.
The paw prints I left within your heart.
You were never going to ask for anything else.
For the argument about the star that you let him win every year.
Last December there were two of you. This December there are three.
For the dad who says he does not need anything, every single year.
One recipe, two pairs of hands, twenty years apart.
For the tree at their house, the one nobody is allowed to touch.
For the two of them, exactly where they want to be.
For her, because home stopped being a place a while ago.
The name is part of the stocking now.
The first tree, and the first address worth putting on something.
The address changes. The line does not.
The book was the same every time and she never once sounded bored.
The one stocking that makes the whole mantel look deliberate.
Two routes, one hallway, and nobody checked the schedule.
The family name goes on everything. Start with the mantel.
The miles between you, and she still knows.
For the Christmas that has an empty chair in it.
Dad never left. He just got quieter about it.
For the woman who never asked for credit.
Three photos, one word — and every reason she will say it back.
She gave you the name. This is the word, with three of your reasons why.
It is the shortest word for everything she did — and it lights up.
You did not grow here. You still ended up home.
You did not rescue him. He picked you and moved in.
The paper lasted four seconds. He was in all of it.
They do not teach good boy in any language. He knew it anyway.
He was there for all of it. This is him, all in one place.
Wherever you go, take this with you.
The mantel has been waiting for this one.
For the name that gets its own hook on the mantel.
For the stocking that gets asked about before the tree does.
The first tree, the first address, and one line underneath that says both.
Same tradition, new memories, same two people.
Miles apart. Always close.
The walks end. The paw prints stay.
Showing 1–8 of 40 gifts