Every year, in February, I mean to say it.
Every year I forget.
I looked around the other day, and I realized they were gone.
I wanted them back.
I would crawl through hell and drown myself in vomit to get them back.
Give me back, I want to scream.
I’m out of words.
But I am words.
I want February back.
I want the ability to look forward to an event I’d forget.
Year, after year, for many years.
Just knowing I could do it was enough! Just knowing the words were there was enough!
… But I never did, and now they’ve gone.