If I were gone today
my name would fill the room.
Voices soft with sorrow
beside a bed of bloom.
They’d say I fought through storms,
they’d say I carried fire,
they’d say my heart was stubborn
and refused to ever tire.
They’d tell the world my story,
how strong they thought I’d been,
how bright my quiet courage
burned beneath my skin.
They’d wish they said it sooner,
they’d wish they held me near,
they’d wish they’d let me know
how much I mattered here.
But I’m not gone today.
I’m breathing.
I’m alive.
It’s only just my birthday
and the world goes passing by.
No flowers on the doorstep,
no voices at the door,
no sudden rush of memories
like they’d speak at death before.
And that’s the bitter lesson
this quiet day can bring—
how loudly love is spoken
when it’s said beside a ring
of roses round a coffin
for a life that can’t reply,
yet barely whispered softly
to a soul still passing by.
Because I’m still here breathing,
still standing in the light,
still living through the silence
of another birthday night.
So if the kindest words
are saved for when I’m gone—
maybe the real tragedy
is waiting that long.
Mar 26
Mar 26, 2026 at 2:48 PM UTC
If I were gone today
my name would fill the room.
Voices soft with sorrow
beside a bed of bloom.
They’d say I fought through storms,
they’d say I carried fire,
they’d say my heart was stubborn
and refused to ever tire.
They’d tell the world my story,
how strong they thought I’d been,
how bright my quiet courage
burned beneath my skin.
They’d wish they said it sooner,
they’d wish they held me near,
they’d wish they’d let me know
how much I mattered here.
But I’m not gone today.
I’m breathing.
I’m alive.
It’s only just my birthday
and the world goes passing by.
No flowers on the doorstep,
no voices at the door,
no sudden rush of memories
like they’d speak at death before.
And that’s the bitter lesson
this quiet day can bring—
how loudly love is spoken
when it’s said beside a ring
of roses round a coffin
for a life that can’t reply,
yet barely whispered softly
to a soul still passing by.
Because I’m still here breathing,
still standing in the light,
still living through the silence
of another birthday night.
So if the kindest words
are saved for when I’m gone—
maybe the real tragedy
is waiting that long.
A birthday thought about the strange contrast between silence while someone is alive and the words people speak when someone is gone. At funerals, appreciation and love are spoken freely. Yet while someone is still here, breathing and living, those same words are often left unsaid.
