Birthday

Yesterday was my birthday.  I took the day off work; a treat to myself.  More than anything, I think I wanted the day to be different in some way from every other day.  I wanted to say, “See, I’m here…this is the day I was born…it matters…”
 
My brother sent me flowers, a card and a gift, which was very sweet of him.  A friend met me at Panera’s, bought me an iced green tea, gave me the new Josh Groban CD, some body butter and body spray, a book and a card (whew!).  A ton of people posted birthday wishes on my wall on Facebook.  My aunt and brother called me.  An old dear friend who lives quite a distance away called me too.  I mean, honestly…that’s a lot of attention!  So what is wrong with me that I still felt so alone?
 
Really…what in the heck did I want?
 
Oh, yea.  To be treasured.  To be cherished.  To be desired.  To be wanted and protected and cared for.  To be celebrated, in spite of my many shortcomings, by someone who knows me…really deeply and truly knows me and who still wants me.  To be joined at the heart and soul with someone who thinks I’m special.  Even though I’m just me.
 
This birthday was better than most.  I’m very thankful for my family and friends.  That should be enough.  I feel very wrong for wanting more.  I guess I’m still waiting for the fairytale ending.  But in reality, fairytale endings don’t exist.  Why can’t I get my heart to understand this and let go?  Why does it keep longing and yearning for someone special who will think I’m special too?  I’ve enough birthdays under my belt, I ought to know better by now. I ought to be able to accept that this is one gift I’m simply not going to get.  Ever.  But I’m still that 17 year old girl inside, dreaming of my prince charming.  Unfortunately, the prince never came; it’s not looking good for next year either, or the year after that. This is one dream I need to let go of.  But my heart isn’t listening to my head. 
 
And so another birthday passes.  And so I grow a year older.  Alone.
 
Happy birthday to me.
 
 

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