Today is your birthday, and, as always, I’m writing to you, one more of my many hopeless efforts to show you how much I care, but I suspect you already know this, already have deleted this the moment it entered your inbox, and forgotten my name the moment it left your eyes. I know I’m not what you want. Perhaps I’ve never been despite those few nights, those few weeks where we were in some sort of fiction, some kind of dream. That sounds like song lyrics. Some sad song where she yearns and he spurns.
And I’m off track, per usual.
I want to tell you happy birthday, to hear you laugh that I remembered your birthday…again. I want to wrap presents for you and watch your face as you open them, but I guess all that would require you not hating me, you actually wanting to hear from me, so I’m sorry for once again invading your life. Instead, I’ll tell you this.
Here’s what I hope.
I hope you are with your family, that they love you as much as they did when I was there.
I hope today and all your days are filled with that kind of love.
I hope you play your guitar and finally master that riff you’ve been struggling with.
I hope work gives you the day off or at least tomorrow off, and if you’re not working, I hope the perfect job finds you and that you love it every day you’re there.
I hope you still take walks on the beach and collide with the waves every once in awhile.
I hope you’re in love. I hope she adores every cell in your body and goes to sleep wondering how she got so lucky to have you love her. I hope she lights up when you touch her and dreams of spending every day by your side.
Because that’s how she should feel. No matter what you’ve done, no matter your mistakes, you are strong and special and no matter what, I still wish you were mine.
But if you can’t be mine, I hope she loves you even half as much as I do.
I hope your birthday is the best one yet, and know I’m thinking of you today and every day.