The calendar, a gift – each page a celebration of intellect and talent – from dream to design. Ideas turned into form. Genius I vaguely grasp. My mind moves to simpler things.

Dates

I flip through and find everyone acknowledged, birthdays dancing through the pages, but not his.

There’s no cause to celebrate. Only memories to forget – moments from which we move. I’m stunned. Weeks pass. The gift forgotten.

I had a good day today. I started out behind in a room filled with experts (at least by comparison). By day’s end, I’d outperformed the majority. My confidence exploded. A silent prayer made to continue to ride that wave.

Half the day gone by the time I walked out.

I looked at the calendar. A primal sound resolved into a moan. I lost track of the day.

Of all the days, this is the one I lose?

You – briefly erased from my calendar.

“You’re too hard on yourself.”

I know.