Most of what I’ve called a gift

wasn’t a gift.

It was a trade.

Unspoken bartering.

A favor in disguise.

Or a play to my own ego.

I’ll give you my flexibility

if you give me your appreciation.

I’ll carry the weight

if you carry the guilt.

I’ll listen

if you tell the story the way I want it told.

None of it spoken.

All of it assumed.

When the return doesn’t come

when you don’t give back the thing

you didn’t even know I offered

I call it unfair.

Or betrayal.

That’s the thing about unspoken bartering.

It only makes sense to the one keeping score.

A true gift has no score.

No strings.

No silent contract.

The responsibility of giving is this:

I have to be sure I can let go.

Am I ready for you to break it, sell it, give it away?

If not, it isn’t a gift.

It’s a favor.

The responsibility of receiving is this:

accept without attaching strings of my own.

I don’t owe you.

You don’t owe it to me.

It doesn’t mean you like me.

Otherwise, I’m not receiving a gift.

I’m receiving an assumption of debt.

The paradox is simple:

The moment I attach strings,

it’s no longer a gift.

Gifts get decorated with ribbons

and with no strings attached.