They Say It's Your Birthday | 2.7.21

They say it’s your birthday. 

Another first, another wish without you. 

I never liked birthdays anyway. But you did.

All I wanted was more time, more birthdays with you, my love.

Tucked away between my birthday and her death. We had hope then.

Today the sky is bleak.

Today I am numb.

Celebration caught in my throat. Tight with the death of possibility.

Grieving a future we were never promised. 

I promised that I would take your heart in mine. That we would see the world together. That I would live.

You would have been 48.

You should have been 48.

I am haunted by the realization that you knew. (Did you know?)

You knew that I would be alone on this birthday and the next.

And today my world is this room.

This chair. That window. Those power lines.

This empty home that I cannot leave.

My birthday wish is a light snow to soothe my aching heart.