It would have been your 57th birthday, Papa. Mama went to your grave in the morning and texted me afterward. I didn't do anything but composing this post for you tonight, with not enough tears in my eyes. I didn't write anything last year, I am sure you would understand. It was still painful and it will still be like that until we meet again. I miss you.
Oh, with all that I've done wrong I must have done something right
To deserve your love every morning and butterfly kisses
I couldn't ask God for more, man, this is what love is
Butterfly Kisses, Bob Carlisle
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