It’s been 685 days since I last saw your face. Heard your voice. Kissed your lips. Wrapped my body around yours. I wonder what you would look like now. Would you still wear your hair the same? Would you like all the same things?
All around me your friends are changing, growing up, moving on. They have soccer games to play, parties to go to, sleepovers to look forward to. When I think of you, I see the same sweet boy who used to run into my arms outside the classroom at the end of a long day. That was nearly two years ago. Would you be different too?
Today is your birthday. I’ll visit you at the cemetery because this is where you live now. You moved in just after you died, and you’ll be there for the longest time.
I can’t kiss you, so I’ll kiss the picture on your headstone. I’ll clear the leaves that gather in between the grave pebbles, fix the teddy bears and keepsakes knocked over by the wind.
I can’t hold you, so I’ll hold the flowers I bought for you. I’ll place them gently at your feet while I tell you all my news.
I can’t touch you, so I’ll lay down on the earth that covers you. I’ll rest my head where I know your chest is and we’ll stay like that, just you and me, in our faraway embrace.
I can’t see you, but I can picture you beneath me. You’re just as I remember you before I said goodbye, dressed in your Ronaldo strip with your favourite things by your side.
When I leave, I’ll be careful not to tread on the other little people who lay still and silent near you. I wonder what you all get up to when the gates are closed and the living depart. All these tiny souls waiting for their loved ones to come home. I hope you’ve found some special ones to play with, and they hold you tight while I can’t.
Miss you sweet boy.