You have been awake since before dawn. As you left the bed and its emptiness your feet touched the floor the silence broken the creak of wood. Your footfalls as you came down the stairs. You count the same. From the doorway of the kitchen you can see the birthday card. Held in place by a fridge magnet that is a picture of the Taj Mahal. You wait for a moment before going over to retrieve it. Your bare feet on the linoleum floor. The only sound. The Taj Mahal jumps from your fingers. A clunk as it returns to the fridge door. You open the card and begin to read what is written inside. I wanted to get you a present but the thing is I have already given you everything I can. I don’t mean you are selfish. In no way do I mean that. You have received everything with a gratitude that I cherish. I don’t mean to be ungenerous I have willingly given you everything. But now there is nothing left for me to give. Except for this. You stop reading at that point. Always the same. You look at the hoary light that comes through the kitchen window and remember how it was. You sense the cold rising into your feet. You make your way to another room. There, you go to the drawer and open it. You carefully place the card with the others. You slowly close the drawer. The only sound.