The birthday

was different.

quiet, planned
and I am ashamed that sometimes I miss the brilliance right in front of me.


The birthday,
was still.
Peaceful, peachful.
Not a chance of the week-long celebration that I used to indulge in.

It wasn't about me, and I liked it like that this year.

"Fuck man, princess or what?" Vicky said one year.
But birthdays are a big deal for me because it's just, one of those days where you get to be self-absorbed and annoying and believe (in your fuh-reaking mind) that you can control time.
That it is two in the afternoon when it's already half six,
that it's two and a half, when it's already eight.
That the world can freeze and the sun setting doesn't mean that the park's going to get dark.



I am naked, but I'm not unravelled.
Baring all, but not ashamed.


This birthday, it was different.
I never do things like that,
Never curl up on grass and feel like there isn't any more to this than what is already around me.
Never sit to stare at parts of huge ponds that have gone so still it's like there might be cobwebs hanging just over it.


And I am here.
Happier, but still floaty.
Because the smell of grass, it clings to you, wraps you up in all these bundles of joy and clam-like happiness that make you believe, if you tuck reality away for long enough it won't come out to haunt you.


But a lot of things, they aren't meant for you to keep.