love letter

Dear birthday,

   i stayed awake for every minute of you. i took your advice and introduced myself to people from various classes. i ignored how much my feet hurt and you walked next to me. you ran your hands through my hair. you bought me a drink and by early afternoon i could feel your hands on my back, pressing up my spine and ruffling my very metaphorical wings. which wasn't annoying this time, despite how often i explain to you their current sad state. before you pushed down the sun, you gave me a chance to look at some very wonderful people right in the eyes. you actually let my mouth do more today than just lick air, hide a clenched jaw and run up against glass. i think i know how much i loved it, tonguing syllables and and bothering to try, to fall on some swords, to put down a pencil, the pad of paper and play with the puzzles and blocks all over the floor of you. you helped me make some mildly wonderful point to entire history classes. you let me sober up, and when got slow like honey you reminded me to stop stealing other peoples art, get off a bed or out of a very comfortable chair and use my teeth. you gave me some friends, and they were so grateful they gave me alcohol and hugs and arguments about the UN and duhhh-bstep and the city school systems.  i could feel how proud you where of me the second i cut it out. i slept with no one else but you. i gave you all the effort a twenty eight year old could have, and still i woke up alone, stood in the mirror and counted scars for almost half an hour before my first cigarette, think the entire time how very satisfied i was with you. how much every inch of you had mattered this time. how startled i was having bothered to bother with you finally. i made coffee this morning in a fucking cloud. i made coffee this morning with a mild tremble to my hands and piles of gratitude.

sincerely and humbly,
b