There's a date marked on my calendar,
And I don't know what it is—or why.
Birthdays, anniversaries, or parties—
I do not like them at all, and I won't lie.
Then why is it that makes it special?
Why have I kept a reminder for it?
Every year when this day returns,
Why does it stop my heartbeat?
Oh, I remember it now—it's that day,
The silent memorial of her birthday.
For years I have been celebrating,
A love unspoken, yet quietly rejuvenating.