Strings and Stones

Today is your birthday.

Today is your birthday and in my mind, we are thirteen again. It's 5 in the afternoon, and I am standing by a doorway, admiring the cuff lacing my wrist, its plastic stones blinking, wondrously catching the dying afternoon light. You are inside, talking to the shopkeeper, asking her about the crystal bracelets on the display counter.

Today is your birthday.

Today is your birthday and we are thirty-something-year-olds, miles and miles apart. I am thinking about grace, I am thinking about laughter, I am thinking about sunlight and moonshine, about dreams and oceans, about mysticism and music, about warm firelight, about friendship and constancy--because these are the thoughts people like you inspire in other people. I am looking at the bracelet I'm wearing, the mild sheen of its magenta-colored beads stark against my skin, and I remember the broken pieces of me that you had strung back together into a circle.

Today is your birthday and I am thinking of the sound of waves crashing to shore. How beautiful it is--both the thing and the memory of it. Thank you for letting me hear its music, once more. One day, we will find ourselves along another sunlit shore, scouring the sand for forgotten dreams. Or pretty little stones, maybe.

Happy birthday, Kristine. The world is one brighter place with you in it.