What they don’t
understand about
birthdays and what they
never tell you is that
when you’re eleven,
you’re also ten, and nine, and eight,
and seven, and six, and five, and four,
and three, and two, and one. And
when you wake up on your eleventh
birthday you expect to feel eleven, but
you don’t. You open your eyes and
everything’s just like yesterday, only it’s
today. And you don’t feel eleven at all.
You feel like you’re still ten. And you
are – underneath the year that makes
you eleven.