Everyone asked me what I wanted for my birthday this year, and I didn’t really have an answer. I’ve felt somewhat numb this week.

After the clock struck midnight, and it was my 24th year on this earth, it was made very clear to me what I want for my birthday.

I want things to go back to how they were,
dumb teenagers in love with each other, holding on maybe just a little too tight.

I want to lose track of time with you in your bed, listening to songs that seemed so relevant when pouring our hearts out to each other.

We ended things and moved on with our lives in very separate directions, but we always stayed connected. I think we were both secretly rooting for our reconnection, someday, when the timing was “right”.

And no matter how far apart we had grown, there was always unexpected reminders of you everywhere. We kept in touch. The depth of our love created this ongoing tension, always tethered.

I talked to your mom a few days ago, on the anniversary of your death. She’s one of the only people that I think truly understands the complexity of my pain.

I never got closure from any of this. The only thing I’m left with is the realization that I’ll never get a “happy birthday” from you ever again.

Maybe I’m selfish, but I think it’s okay to be selfish on your birthday. and my only wish is that you were still here. that you didn’t take your life. that somehow you’re still out there thinking about me when I’m thinking about you, like how it always was, but will never be again.

The only thing that I can do is listen to our songs, and talk to the moon. I would do anything for you to be able to listen.