an ordinary evening

blow out the candles,
put away the wine,
don’t need anything special
when it’s just us two sharing
another ordinary evening together

fold up the fancy linens,
store away the shined silver,
put up the chairs,
the tables,
the games,
and stack the dishes for next time.

find somewhere safe for
the cake,
the presents,
the party favors
all will keep until some other time,
some other place,
some other special day,
for others to share.

just you and me,
a quiet evening,
an ordinary evening like last night,
the night before,
the night after,
like any other

there will always be
another birthday…

[1:57 PM]
It’s not really that I want something made of my birthday. As Ayeka would tell you, I absolutely, positively, uncategorically hate having a big deal made of my birthday (while she loves it). I’m not the kind of person who will make faces, blush, roll his eyes if you get the waiters to come over with cakes and songs and silly hats – I’m the kind of person who will more than likely leave the restaurant before the waiters reach the table.

(Yes, it is my birthday. No, this isn’t meant to be an obvious “clobber-you-over-the-head” type of hint, but rather just trying to get how I’m feeling out. For the record, yes, I’m thirty-two today.)

All that said… it’s just kind of nice, now and again, when people in my local “so-called-real-life” actually remember that it’s my birthday. My parents remembered this year, as did my sister and the woman I went to the senior prom with (we’re still good friends, have been since childhood). One of my readers on here sent me a card (you know who you are). Kiyone sent along wishes through email (due to how horribly our schedules mesh for calling back and forth). One of Ayeka’s friends IM’ed through her a birthday wish, another of our mutual friends dropped me a line, and of course Ayeka remembered this morning before I left for work (not that she’d have forgotten).

And no one else.

I hate birthdays.