I just saw out a small group of friends who were kind enough, fun enough, awesome enough to come celebrate my birthday with me. Ever so simply, at my apartment, with beers and taquitos and sparkling conversation. I technically do not reach another age for another five hours or so, but I’m still recollecting, reminiscing, and remembering all of my Years Past.
I’ve known love. I’ve felt as if I were complete in the arms and in the company of another. I’ve given myself wholly to another, emotionally naked. I’ve entertained the idea of Forever, and it wasn’t a far-fetched possibility.
I’ve known heartbreak. I’ve been disappointed almost beyond repair. I’ve felt physical pain caused by emotional distress. I’ve cried until my eyes could not produce tears any longer. Also, I cried until I scared my cat.
I’ve known happiness. I’ve known intense satisfaction at a job well done, and the relief of a prayer answered. I’ve danced for joy both alone and in the company of others. I’ve fallen to my knees and praised God.
I’ve known despair. I’ve fallen into the grasp of depressions so deep the only way out I sought was down. I’ve been beyond hopeless, jaded and alone.
I’ve known anger. I’ve felt rage so hot and blinding it consumed me. I’ve wished death and dismemberment on those closest to me. I’ve wanted nothing more than to inflict physical violence on those who I felt wronged me.
I’ve known peace. I’ve been overwhelmed with calm, and the innate notion that everything will be okay, and to not worry, and that things will work themselves out.
I’ve lived a life worth living, felt feelings worth feeling, and told stories worth telling.
Happy birthday, indeed.