Birthdays were never great days for me, and I appreciated how you didn’t celebrate my birthday the actual day it was on, or how you didn’t turn it into a giant thing. Just a simple night over at your house. It’s one of my favorite memories by far, I’ve spent hours burning each image and detail permanently into my mind.
You got me one of the best gifts I’d ever gotten. A sketchbook, the pages were off white but the perfect texture and thickness, the covers made of beautiful leather and you had laced ribbons into the binding spirals. It was perfect. Probably a bit more than the average sketchbook, I’m sure. Then afterwards we watched my favorite movies, laughed and cried, ran around like crazy people, and had fun.
I miss those lovely days.