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.
For the name that gets its own hook on the mantel.
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.
For the two of them, exactly where they want to be.
For the tree at their house, the one nobody is allowed to touch.
For her, because home stopped being a place a while ago.
The first tree, and the first address worth putting on something.
The address changes. The line does not.
Two routes, one hallway, and nobody checked the schedule.
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.
You did not grow here. You still ended up home.
For the woman who never asked for credit.
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.
The first tree, the first address, and one line underneath that says both.
Same tradition, new memories, same two people.
For the stocking that gets asked about before the tree does.
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