Gathering up my birthday dress, after changing into my Pj's late last night, I pressed my face into the wool and inhaled the beautiful autumn wood burn scent of the night's festivities that still lived within it's folds.
The lights had been amazing. Bright and golden and pink, low and lovely, framing the the faces of the loved ones who were being remembered. Small fires burned on altars throughout the memorial graveyard. A few larger blazes sat upon the edge of the lot. Friends crowded around, their heads close in conversation, their bodies stiff and huddled.
I wandered through the midst the crowd, twirling through the cold. I was serenaded by the constant hum of my phone as friends called to wish me well or to ask my location so they could find me. The Day of the Dead festival this year took up the better part of a block. The line to get into Bare Hands wound down the alley as people slowly made their way through the hall, smiling and pointing, tilting their heads from side to thoughtful side. Frida Kahlo glided past me on more than one occasion, in more than one form. Dark masks and vibrant costumes dotted the dancing masses. I danced with them, beside my friend Tristan, as St. Louis stood still, leaning up against a heater to warm his shivering bones.
I cannot tell you how much I enjoyed myself or how much it meant to me that so many of my friends came out to help me celebrate my birthday. This has been an amazing year. Truly amazing. So many of my little dreams have come true. Thank you for being a part of it all. I am so grateful.
2 comments:
that was really really well-written...happy birthday
Thank you, Mister.
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