The tenth day of the third month has always been a day to reflect upon my failures. Upon those lives I've failed to save, or those lives I've taken. To reflect upon all those lives lost because of me, and to be grateful for those lives I cherish most.
I think I understand what that day is truly meant to feel like now. By all rights I should be dead. I did die. But the love my friends have for me — their refusal to accept losing me — dragged me back to them in the end.
If they knew, they would have spent it being grateful I was born, wouldn't they? They would have wanted to celebrate.
It is thanks to their love that I am now twenty-nine. It was my birthday, and for the first time I think it is something worthy of celebrating.
It is too late for it this year, but next year I think I will have a party. My first birthday party on my thirtieth birthday. I'll make a nice meal and a cake to share with everyone.
[ Shortly after the usual monthly deposits of money earned for touch hit accounts, an extra one shows up in Regis'--to the tune of a hundred bucks or so worth of Dora. There is no indication of the source, and no note. ]
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