Song

I realize what you are to me. You are my song, my poem.

Now most of us don't live our song, but everyone has one. And you are the spirit of my song, its heart, its mind, its music, its words.

And you know the best part? You don't even have to live in this song with me, for all of this to be true.

In the gentle breeze, the sound of the waves from across our beach barely reaches us as we lay propped up against the great big tree at the corner of the meadow in the back of our house. My back against the tree, your back against my chest, I hold you in my arms as you sleep. The impossibly tall-stemmed flowers that have overrun our meadow surround us like so many sentries warding off reality. It is twilight and the sky is suffused with brilliant colors from the setting sun.  I reach to caress your raven hair back from your face, and whisper "Happy Birthday, my love."