For one day, every year
I am completely unreachable
in every sense of the word.

You can’t call me,
text me
Email me
or fax me.
Don’t try to visit my home,
or find me in any of my usual haunts.
I don’t wish to be found.

364 days a year
I am a completely, honestly, wonderfully, understandable,
open book.
If I can,
in any way possible,
be there for you, help you, talk to you, spend time with you, bend, twist, and mould my life for you,
I will.  
But not THIS day.

This is MY day.
My day to grieve
to howl
to cry
to laugh
to lie
to stare
to snort
to create
to skip
to jump
to play
to wallow
if I so choose
because it is my day.

I will gladly and freely give all of you
every iota of me that I have to give
364 days a year
because that is just who I am.

But this day,
I won’t.
I won’t tell you where I’m going.
I won’t tell you where I have been.
I will lie to your face if you dare to ask me.

I do promise to be safe.
But I won’t promise to be stagnant.
And I take my day alone.

One day. Just one, solitary day.
In a giant year,
is not too much to ask.
Call me selfish if you must.
Call me secretive.
Just don’t attempt to call me at all that day.
You’ll only get a dial tone.