My birthday was a day I normally ignored. When I was younger, when my mother was still alive we used to do something. It wasn't big but it was something. After she died I didn't see the use in celebrating. I didn't want to celebrate without her. It just didn't seem right. I didn't hate my birthday, it was just a day, another day.
The morning's sun rays poured into my room from the bay window stirring me awake. I slowly rose from my bed. I lugged myself to the bathroom where I took a shower before returning to my room to dress. I tugged on a pair of dark jeans, pulling a long sleeved t-shirt over my torso, before grabbing a hoodie and slipping my arms into it.
Fully dressed I marched downstairs. I headed for the dining room. It was weird eating alone again. My father and I
