It was tough to wrap your birthday present,
knowing that I wouldn’t be there to see you open it,
knowing that I wouldn’t see the look on your face,
or hear the first words out of your mouth.
It’s hard to turn such a personal guesture
into an impersonal one:
for me to just wrap something like this,
put it in a box, and send it away.
I know where it’s going,
but I don’t know if it will ever get there.
I don’t know if you’ll ever touch it,
ever understand how much I still love you,
                    and care for you,
                    and think the world of you.

I lose track of days, now.
I can’t seem to remember when I’ve done something,
whether it was recently, or a while back,
I can’t seem to discern between the two.
And I know, that after I send this, I’m going to have
          difficulty
remembering. I know I will, and it saddens me.
If only I could be there.
If only I could offer you my arms, to wrap tightly around you.
-offer you my voice, to speak softly to you,
offer you my lips, to grace your forehead with a kiss.
If only, if only, if only.
There are too many if only’s.