(no subject)
There's 30 minutes left in your birthday. I didn't forget; but I called you last night after I saw tornadoes were tearing through Massachusetts (and I got scared) - only to find you had changed your number (or you had someone pick up the phone for you). So I took it as a sign to not try that ever again.
Happy birthday though. I wrote a long, beautiful letter for you - the kind you like - but you don't want it from me, I guess. I'll respect your desire for privacy but I'll hate it from that distance too.
Happy birthday anyway. Even if you avoid me only when you're sober and then say every hot, heated word starting with "love", spiraling past that quickly, when you're drunk or sad.
So happy birthday, Amanda. This is all you get. He gave you the world I guess but he'll never be able to give you the parts of you I alone fulfill.
My Sunday is weary
My Sunday it is grey now
My heart is a cold thing
My heart is a stone
All joy is dead in me
My life has gone away now
Another has taken my love
For his own
Bridget O'Malley (Traditional)
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