((Okay so I own nothing but the plot which I came up with while listening to Death Cab for Cutie's brothers on a hotel bed, hence the name :3 okie thanks! Read and review please!
My shoulders slumped and I could feel a new sudden weight pressing my body down and making the bones of my knees creak and pop with the sudden strain. The cake was beautifully decorated and I knew my daughter had taken the time to carefully write out in emerald green icing "Happy 50th Daddy!". I was both touched with fondness and dread, the on slot of my aging and the fact that my wife was still far to good for me after all these years. She was only 44, and looked to be 29 or 30. I knew she had to be repulsed by me, by the children we'd created together, my own imperfections soiling the beauty they'd gained from their mother. I could see it all to clearly, the signs of her fading from me in both mind and body, the beginning of the end. I'd seen her folders and those divorce papers neatly clipped together with everything but my name set in ink. Turning from the beautifully frosted cake I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the mirror and winced, the wrinkles making me look down trodden but my eyes still shining with that youthful vigor. I looked out of place within myself, nowhere near who I had been.
I remember back some twenty years ago, my old motorcycle had never looked complete without her on the back, her long blonde curls pulled behind her head and my jacket covering her petite form. I remember how we used to drive down country roads and she would let go of me and reach up to the sky as if waiting and say "Someday we'll move on from here, we'll fly away". She said that, and I sped up, longing to see her wish out, but no matter how quickly I went we never lifted from the concrete roads, the very same ones in the city we live in now.
Another memory is of her sea longing days, when she'd turn to me and make a face of pain "I want to see the ocean Kenny, please, we have to" and I had nodded and made plans to but never saw them through, no matter how much my heart longed to be at sea, like the true navy man I had once been.
The most recent of memories though is of my last few nights for months, the awkward crawling into the bed Bebe and I share and turning to face the walls as we mutter unfeeling goodnights. Like my brother and I had down after fights in our room, usually on school vacations, and we'd convinced ourselves we'd never speak to the other again, only to wake up and do it all over again.
I stared in the mirror for a good ten minutes more when I saw Bebe behind me, eyes red-rimmed and glassy, and I knew the moment she spoke this was my end "Ken...lets talk."
Fin.