Pen and Page Journey

Dear You,

You remembered his birthday.

Not because you set a reminder.

Not because Facebook told you.

But because he mattered.

His name lived in your memory’s rhythm.

His day felt like it should be celebrated—simply because he existed.

And what makes it ache now is…

You barely remember your own sometimes.

You forget family birthdays. You forget close friends’ dates. Not because you don’t care—but because your mind is always full. Your heart always heavy with what needs holding.

But his birthday?

It stayed.

You held it, without needing to.

And when yours came and went—quietly, or worse, awkwardly—it didn’t crush you.

You told yourself he’s not good with dates. That it wasn’t personal.

You extended empathy. Grace. Understanding.

Because you didn’t love to be celebrated.

You loved to celebrate him.

And still, a part of you hoped he’d remember.

Not for the gifts. Not for the spectacle.

But for the sacredness of being seen.

But he didn’t.

And you won’t say it out loud, but that forgetting? It stung more than the silence.

Because how do you explain that it was never just about the birthday?

It was about you.

And now, sitting here with the softness you gave so freely, it hits different.

You remembered.

You always remembered.

Even when they didn’t.

And that hurts.

But let this be a gentle truth:

You didn’t remember because of what he did.

You remembered because of who you are.

That’s your tenderness. Your loyalty. Your love.

It’s not weakness. It’s not foolish. It’s not wasted.

You gave a piece of your care, and that says everything beautiful about you—and nothing disappointing about your worth.

Next time, you’ll remember someone’s birthday again.

And this time…

They’ll remember yours too.

With softness,

The Soft Goodbye