A Year of Birthdays

on the day that we met
the sunlight was strong and the wind was warm.
i was in the shade of a tree—
giant, older than either of us,
with the greenest of leaves
and the strongest of trunks.
i was licking the juice
of a sweet strawberry from my fingers,
listening to the sounds of birds chirping
and children playing.
it was beautiful that day.

we met in a burst of laughter,
an accidental movement
that lead to us on the ground in a heap—
your converse sneakers entangled
with my dirtied vans.
your giggle sent tingles down my spine,
and your eyes sparkled a brighter blue
than the sky above us.
when you asked my name,
i gave you my soul—
and when you asked to see me again,
it was like my birthday had come early.

the next time we met
it was raining—
the sky crying out in anger
and it’s tears slamming to the concrete.
the coffee house we sat in was warm,
homey— not home, no, but comfortable.
you asked me how my day was,
and i said good, which was true,
but only because i was with you.
your smile stretched across your face,
and i could only fall a little harder.

and we continued.

we met again,
again, and again, and again…

and when the first snow fell,
we went out and played in the cold,
and when your fingers went numb,
when my cheeks were far too flushed,
we went inside and drank too much,
and when we woke up the next morning—
well, you and i were different people.
you saw the clothes scattered about,
and you blushed deeply.
i saw the marks on your neck,
and it was my birthday all over again.

on new year’s eve
my friends asked me who i planned to kiss
when the clock struck midnight.
i laughed and told them nobody,
but my eyes strayed to you—
drinking from a red solo cup
and talking to one of the boys who you liked.
jealousy was my ever present friend,
but in that moment,
all i felt was adoration and…

“5! 4! 3! 2! 1!”
and your lips connected with mine.
it was a turn of my head
and your breath mixed with mine.
it was a gasp of air,
and your eyes met mine.
it was a breathless laugh,
and we kissed again, and again…
and once more,
it was my birthday.

in february, you were my valentine.

in march, we got buzzed up
and drank too much—
to honour st patrick, of course.

in april, the snow we had made love in
melted away and left puddles
that we jumped and played in.

in may, we partied harder than ever,
saw concerts we had always wished to see,
made love in every corner of our homes.

in june, you smiled at me,
and you finally said you loved me.

and it was my birthday.

every day
every moment
every kiss
every laugh
every smile
every crinkle of your eyes
every bit of drool and snoring—

it was all gifts,
all a tribute to you and your existence,
making up for all of the hurt in my life.

you made me happier than anyone had—
brought joy into my brain
and flooded me with serotonin and dopamine,
made me so high on love i forgot my own name.

and on that day in july,
when we sat under that tree,
old but green as could be,
eating strawberries
with your converse laying next to my vans,
while we giggled and watched
the suns vibrant rays shining upon us—

it wasn’t my birthday—

it was a year of birthdays.

j.l.