No birthday cards, nor well-meaning emails or texts.
I let the day pass unremarked on except in the back of my brain
where I struggle to recall how many candles I should put on a cake I know you
will never eat, though I know somewhere on that special day you celebrated, the
clock ticks for both of us, through mind has marked much more considerable
passage.
Still, I mark my birthday on my calendar if only to
acknowledge its annual coming, then trying not to remind myself of what it
means, while with you, surrounded by friends and family, times moves much more slowly,
something hold up the sand in the hour glass – it always runs quicker later
when there is less time to count, my worry, not yours, though on this day, this
year, you have to ponder fate and if the new year will grant you what you ache
for in the year that has passed, and I wonder, do you expect me to remark again
as I foolishly once did, if so, here it is, though I don’t believe you will
ever get to read it.
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