My tax days go differently

I wake up each April 15th to pat myself on the back for having gotten something important done months ago, and that is the peak of my yearly performance - objectively speaking.

But the rest of the time at least in my last 6 years of April 15th's, I can recall spending much of the day thinking about where things have gone wrong; or could go wrong; or probably will go wrong because they have absolutely nothing to do with getting imaginary payments turned in before a made up deadline on a mid-April day - working year after working year after working year. In fact - they've been spent on thoughts of a person, and how I could have - no - should have spent my love on them better. I should have invested in a relationship 401k or Vanguard Romance plan as early as I could because now, my heart is in a recession.

I suppose associating Tax Day with what feels like a jaded heart is only fitting in an age where I am less than inspired by the people who decide my worth. But it feels unique in the sense that it is lonely. Lonely, to watch the world press on to latch a finger onto the chaotic energy that is finance while I stare up and watch their bodies float in chains high into the stratosphere from a sheltered place down below. I paid my dues early. I waited patiently. I collected my dividends and did as told by reinvesting them back into myself. So why is it then that I am here and he is there and there is nothing but silence and the sound of cash registers and gas pumps and shattering bottles between us, spare a few thousand miles and nasty words. Why is it then that I am so full that I could burst with all the words and deductible donations I want to throw in a specific direction - but I am bankrupt when it comes to being wanted for what I wish to say.

I filed the taxes wrong. We were audited long ago and send on our new, reformed way to save ourselves from the risk of bankruptcy of the heart and merger into one more solid small business of belovedness. You've gone. So I sent in the paperwork early, in order and lacking your seal of approval.

The refund came back, and I've cashed it - payable to me and only me, as if the expense of your sustenance never left a dent in my existence, and like the moments of soul you did shower me in were too short to be of measurable significance on a W4.

You aren't even worthy of a number. But on April 15th I think of you.