17

Sunday. Seventeen. This number is somehow much stranger than sixteen. Sixteen sounds like a birthday people put on cards. Seventeen sounds temporary, like a corridor between things. Had a really good day. Mom did the usual `”we’re not making a fuss”` while producing unmistakable evidence of fuss. Hikari’s present was perfect. Erick’s required explanation, which was part of the present whether he realises it or not. Tia brought something I had mentioned wanting once and then forgotten I’d mentioned. Alexielle sent me a page she’d made and Edo sent music plus a message containing enough exclamation marks to require structural support. Dad called from Genova in the morning and again tonight because apparently one birthday requires two calls. Cake replaced the four biscuits today under birthday law. I went upstairs for a little while after everybody left and sat here looking at the site. There are years of me in these files now. Not adult years. Not dramatic years. Just days. Thousands of small things I would otherwise have lost. Maybe that’s what I like about this place. It doesn’t require seventeen to mean anything tonight. Tomorrow can explain it if it wants.

Remember me, Eclipse.