Quick thoughts on nothing important

Your birthday is coming up next week. I had a revelation this afternoon. There was a memory we shared, small and unimportant. I was riding beside you on a summer afternoon. You had bought me a balloon at the grocery store, and I thought it funny that my voice squeaked when I inhaled the light gas. I must have indulged this game too many times in a row because I passed out, and you, panicked, shook me awake.

"Are you ok?" you asked, and I nodded and grinned and you relaxed. I don't remember passing out, I only remember feeling your hand on my shoulder and knowing that you were watching over me.

I had a revelation this afternoon, that half of that memory is gone. It only belonged to you and me, and now you have gone where memories cannot follow. It was a small and unimportant memory, but you have left it with me to guard for a time. Someday, I will follow you and I, too, will leave this memory behind. Only then no one will remain to watch over it.