Happy.

I am happy,
I know love
as I never knew existed.

Call me corny,
or a sentimental fool,
it doesn't make it any less true.

I am happy
as I see music
you'd have given me,
(yes, you)
a debate
we would have,
a book I'd have been gifted
on my birthday.

I'm happy,
so why do tears roll down my cheeks?

I write music
that does not reach you,
a billion words
you won't read,
books I'd gift you
on a Tuesday, or a Wednesday,
or for your birthday,
just now gone.