I want it to be my birthday every day. So I can drink champagne and laugh and dance. So I can hear everyone tell me how amazing I am. How happy they are that I was born. So I can keep the gargoyle out.
I was almost not born. My parents were teenagers. His parents were adamant. They were too young. She was meek. They made an appointment. Then her dad spoke up. He stood up for her. He supported her. She changed her mind.
No one told me until I was grown. How I began this life so unwanted. How they all wanted to get rid of me. I carry that stone. Built into the spikes of the gargoyle. The ones that poke at my heart. That deflate my lungs. Sometimes it pokes so hard I have to drink a whole bottle of champagne to push it out.