Positivity.
Fuck the goddamn rain.
Fuck the busted heater.
Today's my fuckin' birthday, and all the little damn tricks that life's gonna try to play to make my day worse ain't gonna work. I'm a lil' bit older today, a lil' bit wiser. Nothin' can get past me anymore, see?
And I've got everythin' in the world too. Tifa sent over some cookies that she and the kids made (and they're a lil' stale, a lil' burnt, but fuck it, it's my goddamn birthday). Yuffie sent over some fire materia (in case my lighter went to the dogs, but she'll probably end up tryin' to steal it and I'll probably end up tryin' to chase her off of my goddamn property with my spear, but fuck it, that'll be in a few days.) Hell, even the ol' Vamp signed a card and sent it to me (and fuck it if it's the farthest thing from poetry, the words "Have a smokin' day" always gets me.)
Well, actually, y'see, I've almost got everythin' in the world. Shera's the only thing that seems to be missin'.
Today, Shera woke up early. She wakes up early everyday. Nothin' out of the ordinary. Then, she left without sayin' a word to me, no "Happy Birthday, Cid!" No nothin'. But, I can handle this, 'cause she was just being considerate, lettin' me sleep in a lil'. It's all right, it's okay.
When I woke up an hour later, I expected to smell freshly brewed tea, maybe some bacon and eggs in the kitchen. Guess what? There was nothin' at all, just the smell of burnt toast, but no actual burnt toast. Not even a gift on the table with a tag that said, "To Cid, From Shera, Happy Birthday."
I think it's right to fuckin' assume that if anyone got me any goddamn thing for my birthday, it'd be my wife.
"Fuck it," I told myself. "It's my birthday."
And now it's several hours later, almost fucking eight o'clock, and the rain's still pourin', the heater's still busted, and Shera's nowhere to be seen. Won't answer her phone, either. Damn women. They always disappear when a guy needs them most. Y'know, if not only for a few little words.
Shut the fuck up. I'm not bein' sensitive, I'm bein' a man who feels ignored. I'm allowed to feel a lil' neglected, I hope. I mean, shit, I've been in my house alone all day locked up because of the goddamn rain. (It's a bitch out there.)
Goddammit. Three knocks at the door. Who the hell's out in the rain? Who the hell has the balls to disturb me while I'm knee-deep in thought?
Shit. It's Shera.
"I lost my key," she says innocently, looking down at her feet. Her feet are nice, but she's got better things to look at. She's also completely fuckin' drenched. A beaut.
"Well, where the hell'd it go?"
She shrugs.
"What kind of a goddamn response is that?"
"I wrote you a poem," she says quickly and steps back and holds out a piece of paper that also looks drenched, but readable.
"That's where you've been all day? Out in the goddamn rain writing me a poem?"
"Please read it."
I clear my throat.
"The rain drips,
but I still smile
next to you."
She looks up at me and then back down at her feet. "May I come in now?"
"You spent all day out in the rain writing me this poem?"
"Do you not like it?" Her face looks sad. Goddamn it. Where's my mind? Fuck it if it's a stupid haiku, the woman spent her entire day out in the rain for me.
"If this isn't somethin' symbolic of dedication, woman, then you better tell me what the hell is."
She smiles. "So, may I come in now?"
"As long as you make me some hot tea."
"Anything for you on your birthday, Captain."
I love my fuckin' birthday.