My · life · as · fiction

happy birthday, bro.


It's past the stage when big sister meant taller, faster, and beat you at games.

Closing cycles, turning inward.

You.

A slow soar.

Perhaps it means, too, that everything is enough.

It's the littlest things sometimes.

Nothing bad about that, specially when we're sure of the True North.

A toast and a bubble.

So many things to say yet.

To be of worth, to share wisdom, to make choices, to cry when needed, to be balanced.

It ends stories in the publishing world.


But me, in my world, my stories are just starting.

The approach fills the anticipation.

the trip was a gift, ma and pa.


Thirty-two years, one day at a time.

Once and future lovers. Such magic.

He did write those long letters, like in the movies, in the six months she was in Beijing. One nighttime and those letters between them.

Something they just know for sure.

Kisses still last for days, yes. (Lifetimes, even).

Maybe, with a little more subtlety, his persistence will bear more fruit.

It's their friends who are the couple, really--the tragic bumpy roads and its applicable highs. But along the way, they found each other. And somehow never let go.

Battling an alien invasion is not enough. He has to fight Mark between them, too.