Same Tradition, New Memories
Same tradition, new memories, same two people.
Same tradition, new memories, same two people.
The photos deserved better than a folder called 2021 final.
Two routes, one hallway, and nobody checked the schedule.
Six hundred miles, and she still knows.
The address changes. The line does not.
You did not rescue him. He picked you and moved in.
You were never going to ask for anything else.
For the two of them, exactly where they want to be.
Last December there were two of you. This December there are three.
For the person you would pick again, and the track that knew it first.
For the song that still means the same thing it did that year.
For the tree at their house, the one nobody is allowed to touch.
For the argument about the star that you let him win every year.
For the dad who says he does not need anything, every single year.
The first tree, the first address, and one line underneath that says both.
The first tree, and the first address worth putting on something.
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