It’s been 5,533 days since your time clock stopped.
I try not to think about your absence,
but today’s your birthday,
which makes a difference.
You had 22,959 days, not a second more.
In the grand scheme, it isn’t much.
It wasn’t enough.
I want to celebrate your spirit, your heart,
the times we weren’t apart,
but sometimes it’s too hard to remember the good
when you’re not here anymore.
I had 10,834 days with you,
but I’ve lived a third of my life
wondering what you’d think
about songs, music, movies, me,
my successes, my failures, my sadness,
my joy, and everything in between.
I knew someday I’d have to live
without your advice or you reminding me
of who I can be,
but I never thought it’d be before I was thirty.
Now I drift in directions
I hope will lead me the right way,
never quite sure of my footing
or my plans
or of who I am.
I just keep going,
hoping someday
you can tell me I did okay
without you.
