It was my birthday.
I went home,
and cried.
Tired, stuck in traffic, and rained on.
He had planned to surprise me at work,
but the rain came heavy,
the roads were flooded,
and he remembered that although I’m usually extroverted,
I get shy when all eyes are on me.
I don’t hate surprises —
I just never know what to do
with a heart that full in a room that bright.
He took the day off,
said he wanted to be sure he’d be there when I got home —
and he was.
Waiting outside,
Ecuadorian roses in hand,
Smiling, like loving me gently is the easiest thing in the world.
It was my birthday.
I went home,
and cried,
then melted into the safest hug I’ve ever known.












