My mom's birthday was April 27, and I wanted to do something to observe the anniversary and to release the emotions that seemed ready to burst out of me.
Others may never understand these words, and perhaps I can't even explain them properly myself—I try, but the right words just don't come.
In the quiet darkness of night, I dream about you, and I struggle to convey all that remains in my heart. That's why this moment is for you, though I realize it's for my healing too.
I've expressed myself countless times through various forms—sometimes in fantasy, sometimes in what might seem like lies—yet they're all so real to me that I'm left with tears streaming down my face.
I dream of you in the stillness of night, and I fight to hide the tears, because while these words are meant for you, they also release something within me.
This is for you, wherever your spirit now resides, to tell you that nothing has felt the same since we've been separated by the veil. This is for all the love we shared, and from everything I have left within me, this is for you.
On the surface, my life appears complete, but despite all that, I still find myself singing of things lost to time and memories that used to color my days.
Each night before sleep claims me, I wonder if perhaps you might miss me too. So I craft these thoughts and weave these emotional melodies for you—to express the things I should have said when I had the chance.
All I can do now is hope that somehow, somewhere, you can hear the melody of my heart and know that I'm eternally grateful for everything that I am, because I owe it all to you.
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