The Same as Yesterday, and Probably Tomorrow

I met you today and your birthday is tomorrow. 2 years ago and every day. Time to mourn Memory. And be grateful it slips past. I don’t remember to tell the difference most times. Loving you most when I miss you. And I think I always miss you. I wrote your card two years ago and the words haven’t changed, wishing their intention might. Is it stagnant to keep holding this beacon? Maybe it's a mausoleum. If I carved this care in stone would you believe it? Trapping it there too. You are always more vivid in my dreams. Feeling my back find support in your chest. Tracing fingertips that were never meant to hold me. Is it sadistic to write this all down? The pen’s tip only ever managed to pierce my heart so if you ever read these words they would still be true. 

And that might always be the worst part.