You would have turned 23 today. What is starting to be somewhat of an advanced age for a horse, but I know you would have never behaved like an older horse. You would have remained your wild, youthful, silly self. It was too much a part of you for you to ever give it up. I thought I was stuck with you. Always and forever. Quite an incredible fate that would have been.
But three weeks ago, to the day, it was the one year anniversary of your death. A year. A whole year. Already. Only?
Three hundred and sixty five days. Eight thousand, seven hundred and sixty hours. Five hundred and twenty five thousand six hundred minutes. Thirty one millions, five hundred and thirty six thousand seconds. As many moments with your constant presence in my mind. And at least as many heartbeats without you by my side.
I honestly could not tell whether this year had a bitter taste of eternity, or a sour, fleeting, ephemeral flavour. Time itself convulsed and writhed; it withered and expanded simultaneously, suddenly void of any sense or logic. Empty.
Even now, after a year, the pain still has not gone. It stays with me, every day, and every night. I have simply learnt to live with it. To breathe with it, instead of letting it suffocate me. I don’t even think I have any words left to express it. Any of it.
Just know that I miss you. I miss you more than I could possibly tell. I miss you more than even I understand, I think.
I love you, Alex. Always and forever.
Happy birthday, Bud.