Absence Has No Ribbon

For those who move through February, differently.

Acutely Aware

absence has no ribbon.

February arrives

like it always does —

loud.

Red shelves.

Gold foil.

Bouquets wrapped in plastic promises.

Love, packaged.

Delivered.

Displayed.

You don’t resent it.

Not exactly.

But you notice.

You notice how easily

the world measures devotion

by what can be carried

in two hands.

You notice the way

absence has no ribbon.

If you are single,

this day has an edge.

Not sharp enough to wound —

just enough

to remind.

Of the text that never came.

Of the one who never really stayed.

You sit with it.

Not chasing.

Not reaching.

Just breathing

through another square

on the calendar.

You’ve learned something

about days like this —

they pass.

And what remains

is quieter than roses.

It is the steady pulse

of your own becoming.

The choice

to honor what was.

To release what wasn’t.

To keep going anyway.

Some loves are loud.

Some losses are louder.

But there is a softer way

to mark time.

One day at a time.

Even this one.

the quiet calendar

is still open.

Oquirrh Keyes

open