This is what I remember,

from your last birthday.

I remember that Nana cooked enchiladas because you asked for them.

I remember you were wearing jeans, keds, and a red and white checked sleeveless shirt.

I remember standing on the stairs, and how you had your head leaned back on the chair, and how we were talking, and you turned and smiled at me.

That's all I remember because it was eight years ago, and I didn't know I was supposed to be savoring it so. But they're lovely memories.

Happy Birthday.