You sit at the table blowing flickering lights off a cake halfway across the world as I make myself a bath and think of what I’d give you if I were really there, instead of the music-less Happy Birthday song I sent you across the web, and the picture I will put up on photobucket tomorrow.

I think of pushing a hand-made card in front of your smiling face, a grin stretched across my own, together with a shoddily made muffin and a poorly wrapped trinket of some forgotten but much-loved holiday we spent together.

I think of taking you out, to a vintage movie or a concert of one of your favourite bands, where we joke around and gossip about guys and the bitches that try to hurt us.

I think of covering your eyes as we walk into a room full of friends, and seeing your face light up at the sight.

It’s days like this that I miss you, without ever having met you.
So remember that were I there I would pamper you like a princess. Till we meet, I’m afraid some words on a page will have to do.