I didn't even ask
To be your sun
Or your moon.

All I wanted
was to be
Your Sunday afternoons.

How many empty calendars spaces
I wasted,
Waiting for you.

So many lines and laments
scribed in ink and feeling,
for the girl who is the ocean

but she is a swell and surge
too dauntless and wild,
for a lover whose bones crave the shore.

She craves the squalls and gusts,
and cast iron skies,
a worldly drift to sate the salt in her skin,
the deep pull of currents in her blood.

She is chaotic but not reckless,
she is fickle, but not feckless.
Love her boldly or not at all
her bones belong to the sea
but she will always return to the shore.

I wanted to write you something happy and silly today. Instead I don't know what to say...and knowing me, you know that's not really my way...

But may I say one tiny thing before the celebrations begin? It's not going to be epic or even pretty...but once you made my heart serenade. Now I'm a spectator looking in I'm afraid... I'm standing here outside your life with nothing to bring. I wanted to give you eternal friendship and love but there's no need for what you already have in plenty.

So my gift this year is nothing; it's empty.

I've wrapped it in moonlight and waves of the ocean, attached a card inked in golden dreams and magic, because those things you can never get enough of. So my gift this year is hollow and empty but maybe you'll save the wrappin paper in your heart? Nicely folded amongst memories of sunshine, moons and stars (even stolen cars.)

Maybe you'll open it once in awhile? Pick up my wrapper and remember the gift of nothing from a Swedish girl wishing infinite joy for the birthday boy? That was all I wanted to say…that… and Happy birthday!