It snowed when you came home for the first time. A surprise white-out version of the world, completely unexpected, and perfectly magical. Now when it snows, I think of you.
And finger games, sat on a bench in a park. And feeding the ducks. And the way you leaned on me every morning. And your first words. And the last time I saw you.
All these things, as sharp as glass are held close to me today, as they always are, with a proud knowledge of the young man you are growing to become.
Happy birthday. I hope it brings you all that you wish for.