sacred lines: Thoughts on another Birthday

The Birthday Paradox

by Wil Powers

I turned older this week, 

but not just older— 

more layered. 

More haunted. 

More holy. 

The candles flickered like memory, 

and I blew them out 

with a breath that carried 

both celebration 

and elegy. 

I miss people I shouldn’t have to miss. 

I love someone I didn’t think I’d ever love again. 

I mourn someone 

whose death date 

sits like a stone 

in the middle of my month. 

I wear joy like a jacket 

stitched from grief. 

I laugh with a throat 

that remembers sobbing. 

I kiss with lips 

that once whispered goodbye 

to a future that never arrived. 

This is not confusion. 

This is the architecture of survival. 

This is what it means 

to hold paradox 

without breaking. 

I am not healed. 

I am healing. 

I am not whole. 

I am holy. 

I am not alone. 

I am surrounded 

by every version of me 

that made it 

to this moment.