At some point, I stopped making wishes. The candles burned, the wax spilled, and I let it. I wish I could love like I once did, without loss pressing into my ribs. To hear a voice steady and sure; You'll be alright. I'd wish to hold the child I was before silence fit better than speaking, before distance became second nature. I wish I could look in the mirror without flinching. That growing apart didn't feel like the slow work of erosion, like the tide pulling me under. I'd wish for before; when love didn't require translation. I still wish I could forgive, to stop feeling like a burden. It's my special day. I can't choose just one wish, but the wax drips onto the icing anyway. And it doesn't seem worth it, so I rush to blow out the candles, because there are people waiting to leave. Happy 18th birthday.
— Yours truly.