Birthdays feel like the heaviest day,
Not sad exactly, just pushing me away.
The wishes feel loud, too close, too near,
And thanking them back feels forced and unclear.
I never knew why it felt so wrong,
Why simple wishes didn’t feel strong.
Smiles come out, but they don’t feel true,
And every “thank you” feels borrowed and due.
I stopped wanting cakes, stopped wanting the scene,
No dinners, no plans, no in-between routine.
I like the gifts, but I hate the act,
Faking surprise feels quietly cracked.
Maybe this is growing, learning to bend,
Letting old versions of joy quietly end.
But I still sit with this thought every day-
Is this maturity, or am I losing my way?