Life was good when I didn't care. My birthdays, my skin, my friends, everything was good. It was all there and it was good, but I never gave it a thought. The possibility of anything going wrong didn't even occur to me. And if anything did go wrong, it didn't bother me. Nothing mattered too much. But then comes that fateful time in your life, when you start analysing, reading into things and worst of all, caring. That's when the curse begins. I've never wanted to rewind, but there is a reason people do. Birthdays will just be an excuse to eat a lot of cake, a tiny zit on the tip of your nose could go unnoticed, and relationships could avoid being saddled by unwarranted expectations.

Just as every year, the minutes

leading to midnight were pregnant

with disappointed expectations.

Expectations that carried within them

the knowledge that nothing was going to happen.

“Happy Birthday!”

I knew those words were coming, but

they felt empty -

just like a lame “take care”.

Her intention probably wasn't empty,

but words are like that sometimes.

My “Thank you” was worse,

like a vacuum sucking in the following words,

whatever genuine thing it could've been.