A birthday a year later. A birthday not to be experienced...alone. A birthday that was never wanted. A birthday which passes silently.
From memory...from reading:
"...I don't want to be 40..."
"...I don't want to be 50..."
And then on the verge of 59,
"...will you come to NY..."
And my turning to you after that last phone call, "This is it."
And it was.