Posted February 2, 2016on:
When I first met him, he said, “I am approaching quarter century.” He guarded his birthday like it was some sort of universal secret, then he couldn’t help but revealed it to me. then he disappeared and made me promise not to disturb him on that day while he licked his wounded heart. He looked at people who grew old together and he wondered “what about me?”
Now he turns forty.
I wonder if you still remember the way you were back then, or, like how you have always given me the blank look, you’d say, “what? I don’t remember anything!”
in our twenties, when we first stumbled, we felt so grown up and wise suddenly. We felt rushed as if the years were upon us, and as adults we could no longer afford mistakes and failures. We were so endearingly and achingly foolish. If I could travel back, I’d laugh and pinch your then still chubby cheeks, and I’d say, “off with you then, see you in 24 hours, wearing your tattered sweater and one decent pair of jeans you own.” For I would have known you will come back. Like the years are upon us, and the birthdays, no matter how you pass them, they will come back, to let you know what living is.