darling, so it goes

I turned twenty-nine in Darrow.

I’d gone many years without really acknowledging my own birthday, which probably sounds a little sad but in reality I was just too busy. I'd always made an effort to bring my donors a card or a cake, if they were eating, and making a bit of a fuss. My own usually passed without recognition, though, unless a nurse happened to note it on my ID badge in my travels, and I can’t say I really minded. If anything, they were just reminders of how much time had slipped away, and how little I had left.

They weren't much fun to celebrate on my own, anyway.

Something about my twenty-ninth struck me differently. I hadn't even noticed, really, until somebody asked me the date, and even then it didn't quite hit me until moments after the words had left my mouth. January 5th. It was funny, I suppose, how I felt. I knew birthdays were meant to be joyous, celebrated with balloons and music and sugary foods, and yet I felt so sad. More than that, I felt guilty.

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