I think I was 8. The age doesn’t matter.
I ran downstairs, excited at the prospect of my birthday present.
My mom was sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee, smoking a Marlboro Light. She looked up and saw my grin and excitedly told me Happy Birthday!!
My gift was laying on the table and she told me to open it. I knew it was clothes just by the feel.
I ripped the paper off and unfolded a dream!
They were perfect!! Light blue, brushed denim bell bottoms with embroidered butterflies. They took my breath away. Every last stitch made with love by my mother.
It’s one of my best birthday present memories ever.
And now I have another best birthday present memory to add to it.
It also took my breath away.
My Man wrote me a poem. It’s not his normal style of writing, but he ventured there for me.
It was beautiful, constructed of his feelings in meter, and it made me cry. My Man said it wasn’t supposed to make me cry.
But they were happy tears. They were tears that said My Man knows my heart, and he speaks to my soul.
I think I was almost 45. The age doesn’t matter.
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