I wish you were here to celebrate it with me.
You were a sunray,
A loving bay.
I was twelve when you left.
Sixth grade.
Only twenty days until your next birthday.
Eight days 'till mine.
I never got to tell you I loved you.
I had so many chances.
I still didn't when you were dying,
And now for that I'm crying.
Ruth McKellin Peterson
I love you.
Goodbye.
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