Where have I been all your life? I’ve been there, but not there entirely. When I was born you were nearly thirty and had already lived so much life without me.
We had a few years together, just you and I, but I was too young to remember them. You hold the secret to what my first word was, where I took my first steps, and how I was potty trained. You hold so many secrets, but I never got to ask you about any of it.
Those secrets went with you when you left us and I can’t help but lament the things I’ll never know.
I’ve got 100 resolutions but none of them are what I want to know from you.
Our time together was never resolved. We didn’t have the resolutions I wanted.
We’ll never know each other as well as we wanted.