cheering and poorly sung melodies echo throughout the room,
the kitchen is dimly lit with the small flames and smiles of family members I rarely see,
the air is pushed out from my lungs,
the smoke fills the air,
the candles smelling of burnt happiness,
the oil spills on the buttercream frosting,
the pinks and yellows swirl together,
but I can't think of anything besides
"oh god, when will it be over?"
©L.F.
hating my birthday becomes a yearly tradition