It’s 1 week til my birthday. Wohoo! Or rather wohoo not. I used to be really fond of birthdays, always waiting with overflooding excitement. Not because of the presents. Well, not only because of the presents.
The one particular moment I was looking for all year was my mum bringing out the homemade cake from the kitchen, twinkling candles on top. Now you must think i’m a pyro. I can assure you, I’m not.
I was waiting for blowing the candles so I can make a wish. I was holding on to that wish for a year, carefully planning every word of it. And it never came true.
But I did not give up. Year after year, I blew the candles and made the same wish, with eyes shut and fingers crossed behind my back. Year after year, my heart was fulfilled with hope and desperation. And year after year a little more hope disappeared and gave the place to a little more sorrow.
On Sunday, I’m turning 32. And I’m gonna make one last wish.
What was my wish? Simple: please let me be happy.
black is my happy color 