O Lado B do A

It’s funny, really. I used to think birthdays were just about the day itself: cake, noise, fun t-shirts, the moment everyone sings off-key, and you don’t know where to look or what to do with your hands. But then came you . You, with your quiet wisdom and sideways way of seeing the world. You were the one who said to me, “Why not celebrate the last day of being thirty-eight?” Like it was obvious. And it stayed with me. Especially now, as your day draws closer, I keep imagining how you're moving through this week, how you're closing your cycle, quietly marking the last days of your old age. I imagine you walking slower, noticing the sky, counting moments in sips of coffee and pages turned. You said your birthday didn’t matter, called yourself boring, as if your life didn’t deserve candles and confetti, and I hope, more than anything, that you remember what you taught me: That ageing isn’t a loss. It’s a gathering. So, whether you mark it with cake, or candles, or quiet, whethe...