Unopened

No tree.

No lights.

Nothing sweet left to mark the season,
no warmth to feed the cold.

Silence starves
without leaving hunger behind.

I learned to arrive alone,
explaining an absence
as if it were my own.

Gifts offered freely,
left unopened.

Not just the ones wrapped in paper—
the words I learned
not to speak,
the distance widening
despite my presence—

I watched them go,
still wrapped,
into the donation bin.

No receipt needed.

The cost
isn’t monetary.

I offered myself the same way—
with care,
with purpose,
all of me,
believing love would be returned
where it was offered.

I didn’t choose the silence.

I lived with it,
watched love wither.

And now,
I choose something else.