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Birthday Journal

Ten years ago I was seventeen.

 

They say that when you are seventeen your mind stretches outward with the warm naivety of your heart. Consequences are but stale old stories muttered from the mouths of the elderly, negative and sore from mistakes made long ago. The teenager is the brunt of all sadness, excitement, perception and golden perspective.

 

I thought I had lost it. Swathes of time spent sleeping to avoid hurtful comments but I was just asleep. The old stories of maturity and responsibility still make me laugh. Where is the line drawn between self-sufficiency and pretentiousness? Obviously it is very blurred. With so many women proud with the mantle of bitch and men feigning the tip of the machismo, Its a wonder the children make it to such an age!

 

This morning I am filled with that old Christmas fervour. It runs amidst your cells in the night. Just enough to keep you awake. At first the sky was a cold black. The moon illuminates a small mess of clouds. It drapes over the entire sky but so much of the evening is veiled, believe me I know! A small square of window, I can see through the curtain where a fern stands- almost invisible at first. Slowly the light passed over it. The green of the earth first standing out by the darkness that still rests behind it. The sun is not like a beach sunrise glaring and harsh, it is soft and full of romantic shadow. While I creep around the house on a bulging grin.

 

 I think Ill pen a song today. I used to do it every birthday. I miss the ceremony.

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