i have a cancer in my head. my doctor says, 'no. you don't.' but he hasn't heard you and doesn't believe in the zodiac.
today is your birthday. so ... happy birthday to you. the boy who sings impossible things that i believe. what do you wish for? what can i give you that you don't already have? off-the-cuff compliments? adjectives? a conversation on paper? an impossible encounter that lives in the imagination and somehow becomes reality?
what will you give yourself?
the wisest of men know that real birthdays are not annual affairs ... they are the days when we experience a rebirth; so that while we may grow older in years, we are newer every day. this, i suspect, is not news to you.
your words tell me that you already know this life is a constant, gradual process ... a subtle play of light and texture and shadows, measured in centuries and inches. it is about kindness and passion and peace and temperance ... extremes of temperature, folding and pounding, turning ourselves inside-out, and bringing out the gold hidden within.
on this, the occasion of your birth, my wish for you is that you'll fly free and happy - beyond birthdays and across forever. that you'll have a day, no ... a life ... where happiness foams up over the top of you and down your sides, spilling over onto everyone in your vicinity. i wish you joy and light, the blueness of sky, infinity and more.
and wherever you are tonight, i hope the moon is out, your friends are near and the music is never ending ... and i hope tomorrow gently breezes into your life carrying with it all the choicest of things and all that your heart holds dear.
i am glad you were born.
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