Six years on

Hey, you.

Every year would seem to bring up farther apart, but when I hear a song that reminds me of you, or I go someplace we've been, or I notice at a picture of you that I see every day but pay no real attention to, and it's like it was yesterday since we talked.

You're still a part of me, as much as my arm or my lungs. You're the thought that reminds me that your life can change for the better in a second so the problems of now don't seem so bad. You're the realization that I can be a better person than I often let myself be.

But you're also far from me, and my heart aches when I realize that you're a part of my life that's not happening now and isn't likely to happen again.

And no day do I feel that more than on Sept. 11, the day we said goodbye, and the day we last said I love you.

But this isn't a letter of mourning. It's just to thank you again for saying yes. For showing me the things I was wrong about and the things I was right. For giving me the best time of my life.

P.S. Sorry about forgetting your birthday.