Candles

And as I celebrate the passing of another year

I grin at all of my dear friends gathered around,

trying to pretend that something- or someone- isn’t missing.

I sit at the head of the table, 

knowing that I’m supposed to beam with joy. 

But when the familiar chorus of “happy birthday” begins,

I dwell on the miserable fact

that your voice isn’t singing to me too. 

I’m too preoccupied by my disappointment,

too hung up because you can’t see me here, tonight,

all put together in my pale blue dress. 

I don’t think I can feel pretty without your approving gaze

And hopeless as I am, I’ve spent my one birthday wish 

on the same thing for the past three years now.

Most people don’t reveal their wishes

because they’re afraid they won’t come true once said aloud.

I don’t reveal mine because I know, wholeheartedly,

that I’m a fool to hope, even for a second,

that you could ever be mine. 

Yet I blow out the candles 

as another birthday reaches its end

and I wish my everlasting wish anyway.

While the cake is being served

I secretly pray for the smallest chance that you’ll walk

into the restaurant with a present in your hand,

and take the seat next to mine. 

Sloane Massey, Grade 11

Creative Writing Major