Poetry, I guess

Take II on Birthday

It's that day.
The day you were born.
A day that really has no meaning to me,
Or shouldn't, anyway.
This day you came into existence:
Few thousand days I actually knew.
And maybe a few dozen days later, when you left me broken down worse than when I met you.
I can suppress a lot of things about you:
Memories
The way you talked me up when I was down
How you found the happy in me
That you could see the flaws in me
As beautiful quirks.
Considering I can list them, I guess I'm not the best forgetting.
But i swear, this day is something that sticks in my brain like glue
A habit I didn't know I had.
When the day passes by, it'll be another day for me.
Another day lonely.