Happy Birthday.
I didn’t send a gift.
Not because I didn’t think about you,
but because I did,
too much.
The date circled itself,
But not for me.
It remembers you first.
It always does.
I thought of balloons,
but I’ve never liked things
that float away
on purpose.
I whispered something
into my morning coffee
and watched the steam carry it,
like a wish I wasn’t allowed to make.
Somewhere,
you’re being celebrated.
Somewhere else,
I’m remembering you,
like a secret worth keeping,
even from myself.
I said “Happy Birthday”,
but not out loud,
just whispered.
Just once.
Just always.