It comes around every year, you say,
with a grimace and a groan.
That dreaded day.

Now it's almost here again, moving swiftly, silently ever closer
a meager week now seperates you from that day
A day once of terrible joy and celebration
A day that once turned a dark-haired baby into a toddler, with cake smeared across your wide, happy mouth
Turned that toddler into a child, off to school laden with books and a slight apprehension
Turned that bright-eyed child into a teenager, reckless and laughing at 90 miles an hour
And turned that teenager into a man, tall and decisive
Headstrong.

Now on the brink of yet another birthday you rub your fingers against your tired eyes and dread the coming of age.
That unstoppable progression.

But you don't realize, love, that you are still so young
and this even I, though younger, know
God willing there is so much we will do, countless nights of wine and words, meals cooked between kisses, smiles, weddings, seasons, places visited and revisited

You dread the coming of age and I laugh
because you still look 23 and act 18
with a lust for life I've rarely seen
the loudest laugh I've ever heard,
and the most honest eyes I've ever known.

05/13/2009

Author's Note: You really are only as old as you feel.

Posted on 05/13/2009
Copyright © 2024 Megan Guimbellot