And just as expected
The message came.
The pre-birthday wish
That will go on
For another five days.
I'm going on three years
Of knowing him and yet
He's not my friend,
Nor my enemy,
Nor a stranger.
He knows me in explicit detail
And yet I only know him
As some vague image.
So here he is
To wish me a happy birthday,
As he does every year.
His arms holding out
With what appears to be gift.
But I already know what it is.
It's a trade
Cleverly disguised.
His love for my sanity.
And all I can do is stare
And try to resist the temptation
To open it once again.