My face is aching from a head cold. Drinking coffee alone. 8 hour work shift. But I’m thinking about the fact that 18 years ago today you were born and I don’t get to wish you happy birthday without the words sounding like a one sided message in a bottle. I don’t know how to tell you all the things I want to tell you because you don’t have the time to hear them. I wanted to make all of the words line up in 18 perfect little lines that sound like ripping paper and rustling ribbon. I don’t know how to give you a gift that you won’t ever receive or write a thank you note to. I wonder if you wondered if I would stop writing these messages after a few little conversations. The answer will always be, no I won’t ever stop writing about you or writing about this or us or the things I wish I could change because that would be throwing my house key away. All of these things I say never really make sense and my confessions will be taken and twisted by other people who don’t know what it feels like to care for someone without conditions or expectations. A year ago today we stood on a beach and I wrote your name in the sand to state how much I love you. Today I will stand at a window talking to strangers about their days and wanting it to be you.
This is not a voicemail or roses or grand gestures of missing you more than I want to admit. Of course you may read this and it will dig into your shoulder blades, heavy and overbearing. It’s not to hurt or maim, I just wanted to wish you happy birthday.