Sometimes someone who you love very much goes to a lot of effort to give you a big party on your birthday. The party is a surprise party. The party is awesome. It is a gathering filled with friends and food and love. Sometimes the person who you love very much seems really happy about what they've created for you, and for many years after they tell the story of that party to lots of friends. They seem very happy telling the surprise part. And sometimes you hold onto a secret for a dozen years, wondering when and how and if you'll ever spill the beans. Sometimes on a Friday afternoon you give the person who you love very much a present from your mother and her partner and yourself, and you finally or suddenly or somehow find the words that numerous time you fantasized saying in some grand or wild or heated fashion. But in that moment you're just saying words, sentences shared between you and the person who you love very much. These words have little aplomb, and no thunder either. They're just words, like quiet blades of grass that just grow along sidewalks, like trees that just blow around in the wind. They're ok. They may even have love in them, a simple kind of love. Sometimes a twelve-year-old secret just comes out and is changed into something else, no longer a secret. And there's possibly just not that much more to it. Share a story of your own about anything or anyone present in your life today.
[image description: A group of hearts, some with arms thrown up or jumping, filled with energy, yell all together, "SURPRISE!" Another heart facing the group holds its hands up to its surprised, agape face. Text reads, "I pretended."]
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