Something Significant

Not all of them. I wasn't ready for all of them.

There was a birthday letter from when I turned ten. My mother had written: I imagine you today. I try every year. I count the candles in my head. I wonder if someone makes you cake. I hope someone makes you cake.

There was a letter from what must have been a bad week, undated, the handwriting less even than usual: I am so angry today. I need you to