There once lived a girl
Barely even three
Who wore childish, innocent smiles
And ran around freely.
She spent summer with her sister
Picking lilac flowers,
Rolling down grassy hills
Endless fun for hours.

There once lived a girl
Finally thirteen
Who wore gloss on her lips
And said things she didn’t mean.
She spent summer all alone
Never picking any flowers
Claiming she had better things to do
With her endless summer hours.

There once lived a girl
Sixteen, impossibly thin
Who painted scarlet on her wrists
Because she could never ever win.
She spent summer locked away
Bawling in her room for hours
And there was nothing in the world she wanted
More than lilac flowers.

There once was a girl
Who tried so hard in life
But she couldn’t bear to live
With her sugarcoated strife
And one day she just vanished
So her sister cried for hours
And upon her solemn grave
She laid withering lilac flowers.

It’s strange, really, how I find myself tangled in a relentless cycle of pause and play, of fast forward and rewind. So often I envision myself with my hands reached out in attempt to catch a moment in the air, to take hold of a feeling before its color dissolves into another collective memory. Emotions flutter anxiously between my fingers, like restless fireflies trapped inside glasses they cannot escape.

But I do not wish to steal their euphoria, only to preserve it.

They say I was born with a soul incapable of finding rest, possessing an interminable wanderlust that refused to dwindle. A blessing and a curse it was, the perpetual desire to hoard memories like expired love letters in the deepest trenches of my mind. I chased Love until my legs would give out beneath me, and even then I found myself crawling to graze its touch.  

Pause, play, rewind.

A lethal dose of nostalgia. Each solitary moment dances to the tempo of my blood flow, the erratic heartbeats that remind me how alive I have become. I have taken them hostage.

Each ephemeral moment, possessing a life so fleeting and bittersweet. The mellifluous echo of my favorite song being shouted at the top of my lungs, the familiar scent of the first book that stole my breath away. The first rush of freedom, the bewildering taste of loss, the initial weight of a damaged heart.

Like fireflies, they emit an effervescent light that radiates through the darkest chasms of my mind. A focal point. A distraction. Something beautiful amidst the murkiness of tears and unrequited love.

And I see their light shining through my fingertips, illuminating the gaps where nothing but absence exists, and I let go. They are free, an autonomous ray of light that floats through the spaces where I once felt so alone.

But I am not alone anymore, I am never alone, because I’ve created something permanent. A home in the middle of nowhere. A shelter for the explanations I could never bring myself to elaborate upon. A dazzling luminescence that will never die out.

We are everlasting.

The rustle of sheets
the pacing of feet
and the lights outside flicker
in the dark street
that is covered in sleet
the house is losing heat
shiver under blankets
to gain warmth is a feat
when the big hand meets
the little hand, there are seats
that are inanimate and cold
anxiety ain't sweet
anxiety ain't sweet
anxiety ain't sweet

They sneak up on you
The same time every year.
But each year they are different;
Different people, different places,
More people, fewer people.
Old friends, new friends,
Lovers, family, random celebrants.
Each birthday is a time capsule
A specific moment sliced from the year,
Seemingly mundane, but oh so telling.
As we age, we pretend to ignore them,
Not wanting to count the years or
Admit to their significance.
But if others forget them,
We are hurt deeply.
As the day approaches
We are forced to assess our life,
The past months, the past years
The days ahead, the shortage of days to come.
A happy day is always the wish from others,
As if saying it will make it happen.
If only life worked that way.
But it is our day, our one special day
No matter our sins or transgressions,
We can bask in the glory just this once,
This day is our reward, for nothing in particular.
Just for being, just for living,
Just for having survived.
But maybe that is worthy of acclaim.
Every day, every week, every month
And surely every year
Is a struggle.
Let’s celebrate perseverance.
Let’s celebrate fortitude.
Let’s celebrate strength of character,
To whatever degree it exists.
Let’s celebrate hurdles,
Overcome or faced with courage.
Let’s celebrate disappointment
Profound disappointment that failed
To defeat us.
Let’s celebrate not giving up
In the face of overwhelming fear.
Let’s celebrate the journey
In all it’s joy and dejection.
And most of all
Let’s celebrate the days to come
And that glimmer of hope
That keeps us plodding along,
Fighting, struggling, sacrificing,
And wincing in pain
Every day of the year
So we live to see another
Birthday.