What good is a candle, without a flame. 

What need has a book, for inkless pens. 

What greatness would we attain, without the decisions that deal in blood.

I recall my thoughts from beyond, but they stray just as every other day. They prance across my battered fields, just to dance across frozen lakes. They remind me of the origin, the dawn of when I began. 

To live a life that could be glorious. Wonderful in every light. 

To live a life that would be satisfying. Forged by my own might. 

To live my life acknowledging impermanence. Knowing everything would be alright. 

For you would always be there, in the days that I am not. 

The evening wind whistles, to carry warm scented memories through tight-shut eyes. It seeps through my weathered mask, just to sing into a hollowed heart. It reminds of the day I learned light, the day I finally knew to begin. 

Upon this journey I have since embarked on. Scraping knees and bruising elbows. 

Upon this tunnel I have not looked back on. Bearing heartache and shouldering pain. 

Upon this life I am only grateful for. Singing brightly and crying loud. 

I had seen so much, and now regret so little. All since the day I began.

Images burn across the dark walls of my still-shut eyes. I see you, who taught me when to begin. You taught me to tame my storms, that I may leave my tears behind in the rain.

I see that my life didn’t begin the day I was born. 

It began on the nineteenth day of June. 

I began the day that you did, mom. 

Fifty two years ago, today. 

Happy Birthday.