Samira

this week has had an overtone of bitter-sweet, and undertow of memories screaming both tremendous joy as well as sorrow. it wasn’t until last night that it finally hit me, Paul:
Happy Birthday.

6 of your birthdays. 6 of mine.

we even met at your birthday party:
no wonder these past few days have been so wrought with emotion.

realizing that this is the first time in 6 years
that we are not spending our birthdays together
missing that part of the relationship
having a home with someone
thinking of all the ways in which we spent those days together
4th of july fireworks from the couch
playing records in the sun
going on road trips
and other stuff
like how broke we were
and how we’d just have each other
and as much as that was the bad
it was also the good
and i miss that
i miss having my friend, my partner
my touch stone
somebody to come home to
thinking about taking Little Bit to the vet
and it made me think about you and Little Bit
& how much you love her
& how you probably would have taken her today
because that’s the kind of relationship you had with her.

this is not a story of regret, for i am too proud of you.
and i am proud of me, too.

and today, on your 38th birthday, Paul,
i want to thank you for our journey together,
for everything that we’ve endured & felt & tried & forsaken,
for everything that we’ve taken away & learned,
forgotten & remembered,
become enraged for, beaten ourselves up over, forgiven.

thank you for our bicycle ride,
for that rubik’s cube, and that one good record, too.

i am so incredibly proud of you.

i love you.