I held off on opening birthday presents for over a month. such a lovely stack of faraway appreciation, piled and postponed as the excitement of the gifts I gave myself slowly faded. boxes standing by as beloved company departed, friends proved their points, winter waited its turn. inevitable, the cold crept in and the packages, patient as love, appealed to my need for warmth. a crystal pendant ready to make rainbows. a comfortable cutlery set of which I couldn’t have dreamed. a tracker for the adventurous kitten. books. each now replacing hugs, caring faces, the singing and dancing of togetherness. only I have created this lonely life; romance it well, I shall, and do! the alchemy of interpretation: all gifts are gifts.

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