Forgotten (or why I don’t like my birthday)

There is no day I feel more like God than on my birthday. And it is awful. You see, everyone is quick to celebrate you on this one day, but you are forgotten the rest of the year. My birthday is like Christmas or Easter.

I don’t understand the need to celebrate someone during one day of the year when they mean nothing the rest of it. It is baffling. Why do they suddenly become worth celebrating?

If you don’t care about me the rest of the year, don’t celebrate my birthday. Sure, you can wish me a happy birthday, but let that be all. No cards. No cake. No counterfeit love.

If I must be forgotten, let it be completely. No, really. Don’t hold back.

Humans sure are a strange lot, aren’t we? It is better to us to be completely forgotten than to find the illusion of meaning something to someone. But then, the problem is a lack of honesty. People don’t like to completely walk away from others.

We find it preferable to let people linger on in our lives, unimportant, unacknowledged until special occasions obligate us, in our own minds that is, to jump back into their life. Our cowardice hurts the very people we tried to protect. We are so concerned with hurting people’s feelings that we wreck their hearts. But then, there are some of us who are not so easily fooled…

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