Your birthday

November 9, 2011

I know it’s sneaking up and for months it pulses in the background, but at the same time I wrongly expect it will not touch me, that at most I will be safe in that near silent coherence we all have, we who love you, for one more year.  But every year something happens.

There is the cool hard stone inside, that still and water-worn thing I am.  And there is another me that didn’t ask for this.  To have this matter arranged in the form of me.  To suffer.  The way you suffered in spite of your good fortune, your beauty, your youth.

I don’t wish you were here.


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