You would have been 23 years old today.
I can’t help but wonder what kind of man you would be right now.
In another Universe, are you still alive? Do you still have that smart-ass sense of humor? Did you go to college, and if so, what for? Did you vote for Donald Trump? Who do you pray to? Who do you pray for? Are you the type of person who prays at all?
Here, I pray for your family all of the time. I wonder how they are, and what kind of people they have evolved in to. I admit, I still check in on them from time to time on Facebook. While quickly sifting through photos of people I don’t know anymore, it doesn’t take long to stumble across pictures of you. They all loved you so much.
In that other Universe, the one where you still have a pulse, are you still close with your father? Do you have babies of your own right now? Do they have your warm brown eyes and quick feet? Are you still an avid soccer fan? Are you married? If so, has your wife become accustomed to the routine of catching you sneaking into the kitchen for hot pockets in the middle of the night? Have you managed to grow out of the terrible eating habits of an almost 15-year-old? In that beautiful Universe, are you still upholding that tradition of celebrating this night of your birthday with donuts, with your family?
Here, I think I dreamed of you last night. It was the dream I have most often, of sitting with you in our high school parking lot, drinking milkshakes. I hope they have milkshakes, where ever it is that people go. I hope they have soccer balls and skate parks, and they play Bullet For My Valentine for you on the radio. I hope there’s an endless supply of Super Mario Cart, and donuts, and birthday parties where you get to experience what it feels like to actually turn 15. I hope everything’s yellow.
And above all else, between the person you were and never got the chance to be,
wherever you ended up,
I hope you’re really fucking happy.