It is but a folded up memory imitating a sealed, but rather loose, jar containing tranquility and condolence. Its contents pour out a flood of positive emotions that surface at the heart, inadvertently causing my eyes to brim with heartfelt tears. As my recollection begins, such a simple thing metamorphosed my average birthday into a day worth storing away inside of my mental scrapbook. I tucked it carefully inside the aged wood of my drawer where it could rest and be safe; such a memory deserved it. Though with some slight hesitancy and consideration of his good deed raiding my mind, it was removed and instead invited to travel my daily routine within the confined space of a mere jacket pocket. There, it found its rightful home forever at my side. It nestled there against the softness, prepared at any moment to be summoned and provide both nostalgia and reassuring love.
The soft, gray letters against the worn paper brought me renewed merriment with every glance over, in turn cradling my heart gently and peppering images of a relaxing sky at retirement to imitate its beauty. A poem without a rhyme scheme and yet a powerful, warming theme persuaded a birthday to become worth cherishing and memorizing. It is but a poem that words -words that are either verbal, written, or typed- can not express the importance of enough, and it is a poem that does not leave my side no matter the circumstances. It is a lilac seed planted in the very depths of my jacket pocket every day, but it waters and watches over me instead, providing me with the necessary sunshine I require.