Written while listening to Aurora Aksnes cover a beautiful Leonard Cohen Song
It is four in the morning, late in November.
I sit at the desk by the window of our bedroom.
In the darkness, all I can think about
is that I cannot send you flowers for your birthday.
From the window, I can see the silver of the waves
crashing across the quiet beach. It is raining outside.
The song I have been playing in the background is stuck in an everlasting loop.
I like the song, but it makes me sad.
If you ever come back here
for my words, or for me
what new can I possibly say to you?
Shall I tell you that I have always loved you?
Shall I tell you that in my mind
I see you dancing with me on our beach?
It is late in November, it is late at night,
and I cannot send you flowers for your birthday.