unable to think about anything,
except how easily it is that we could die.
or what was today,
in another world,
while I was sitting on a rooftop drinking bottled beers,
named ‘dead guy’
my dad would be turning 61 years old.
but not in this universe,
not in my world,
where I am a singular pro-noun,
sitting on rooftops.
and remembering that lately,
I’ve been so sad.
without a knowledge of why.
without a knowing of why lately,
I have never remembered these such landmarks,
until they’ve passed me by.
happy birthday dad.