Dear Person Who Picked This Wad Of Paper Off The Street,
I'm sorry for troubling you, but I just wanted somebody to know that tomorrow is my birthday. Not that I could celebrate given the whole "I'm dead" thing, but its just nice to know that at least one person will know about it. Frankly, I don't even think my friends of three years know. So, I am ordering you from the great beyond to go get yourself a piece of cake in my honor.
Anyway, I wrote this to let off a secret that I feel so guilty for having: birthdays make me want to cry. Not because I'm so happy, but because I know that no matter how hard I try, it's just a regular day for everybody else. I also know that the actual day will never live up to my standards. And then, because I have been cursed with the gift of feeling emense guilt at even the smallest of issues, I hate myself just a little for not being as grateful as I should be. Which, subsequently, is why my friends don't know its my birthday. I don't tell people until day of because I don't want to build it up. I always feel like its a burden for people to act happy for my birthday; a burden I don't want to be the cause of.
This is also why I try to make everyone else's birthday's feel special, so they know that it's not just a regular day for everyone else.
Love,
A Birthdayless Stranger
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