You died a few months after I was born, but I was drawn to meet you. We were generations apart, but your music bridged the gap. And though I know that I could not meet you physically, even to know your spirit would be enough.
I braved 100 degree weather and walked a part of Central Park that I never been to before. When I finally found the Strawberry Fields I thought I would be the only one. But I was not alone, I was but one of the many admirers who came to see you. I could not blame them, you had a gift and you shared it with the world.
I did not stare to much at your memorial. I lingered for a bit. I didn’t want to seem too eager so I kept my distance. I settled on a bench a few feet away. And I turned on my iPod and played Norwegian Wood. You sang and I listened. To the outside world, I was just another tourist seeking refuge from the summer heat.
I smiled to myself and thought it would’ve been nice to meet you. I would have been great to hear you sing. Or maybe just walk by. But that’s alright. This moment would suffice.
Wherever you are, thank you for the music. And Happy Birthday.