Every Christmas

 Every Christmas, something in me softens.

Not because it’s perfect.
Not because it’s quiet.
But because I get to create magic for the people who keep me breathing on the days I feel like I’m barely making it.

The wrapping paper.
The late nights.
The hiding things in closets.
The way my heart swells watching them wake up to a room full of wonder.

This is healing for me.
This is rewriting parts of my story I didn’t get to live the first time around.

If I could catch all the stars and put them in a jar for them, I would.
Every last one.

I don’t take this for granted.
I know how lucky I am.
And I will carry this feeling with me forever.