while we exist.

today is my father's birthday.
I think of how he used to post cards on his website for each of his younger children's.
every year. each birthday he missed.
I wonder if he still does.

I have his picture in my pocket.
hoping he is happy.

knowing he is not.
for when, was he ever happy?
all my childish might, wishes him it.

I ignore the stutter of my heart.
what else is there to do.

But, love enough for everyone who's lacking..
love enough to fill up this hole.