7th of June

and it was the first time
in all these years
of being your daughter
I had missed your birthday;
yes, I didn't give you anything
but my aching heart,
and the staccato words -
'Happy Birthday Appa'
which flowed
from within the dark,
resplendent forest
where I found myself
alone;
and you smiled
through the phone
and told me how
I didn't need to
give you anything,
how I was the best gift to you
how I had given myself,
and there was nothing more
I could ever do;
and on that 7th of June,
I cried,
like I had never before,
what did I do
to deserve a father
like you?
why wasn't I there
on that special day?
would I ever forgive myself?
or did I already know?
and that aching heart
still aches and yearns today,
for a fairytale end
to an unfinished story,
for that gift that wasn't given,
for one more little glimpse
of you....