We’re laughing over the way we kiss. Uncontrollable
laughter, like the kind that you’re trying to stifle at a slumber party before
your parents give you the umpteenth warning to go to bed. We try for the fourth
time to make this birthday kiss count. It’s midnight. The cement is wet and the
red lights from the rite aid next to us reflect on the ground. We’ve been
talking a lot about being grownups lately, and making references to what a
grownup might do or say. Grownups put pillowcases on their pillows and posters
in frames. We do some of the right things but I haven’t been to a slumber party
in awhile and I miss this easy feeling. Minutes before your birthday you pull me in and request a birthday kiss. We don't usually have this kind of intimacy, this is a thoughtful, 'I mean it' kind. I'm suprised that when I look up you are not joking about the way you want to age into 24. The fact that it takes us four times to actually land the kiss reminds me of how sacred this is, this is something I always want to remember. This is us. We celebrate and forget our adulthood
for a moment. I learn the importance of holding onto our youth, holding on to
you.
Happy Birthday, Gemini.
