The One Behind the Photo

I was tallest in the photo,
and still—somehow—missing.
Dad asked, “Where’s David?”
And I forgot how to answer
Questions that erase you.

December always sang for someone else.
Lights strung up while I hung back,
Waiting for a gift meant just for me
But offered as a borrowed afterthought.
“Here—open one.”
And when I did,
They opened theirs too.

Is it any wonder
I stopped believing attention was safe?

I learned to drift before I knew I was leaving.
To shrink without flinching,
To offer without being asked,
To be useful without being known.

But the silence—
Oh, the silence knew my name.
It folded me like paper.
Pressed me like dust.
And when I sank,
No one heard the splash.