This day comes every year. I am prepared, hardened, indifferent.

Except that my head aches more.

My neck stiffens to almost unmovable.

I lose patience for the people around me. I sense my irritation. I apologize.

Don't take it personally, I say.

But the day comes, regardless, and it takes my life away.

Flashbacks are dominant. Angry, burning, suffocating.

Which is stupid. This isn't even the day on which she died.

But the day she died only came once, sudden.

We celebrated her birthday for nine years. On the same day with the typical festivities and wishes for a long life.

It comes as certainly as time unwinding, but each year it destroys me by surprise.

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