Its strange how I longed for growing up. I would wait impatiently and count the minutes for the clock to strike twelve. The twelve of my birthday. My wait would end to start an amazing day when I would have a perfect day at school, when I would get home to get kisses and hugs from my family and finally a perfect cake to cut with my perfect family around me, clapping and singing. And I couldn't wait for another amazing year.
But year by year the definition of amazing just wasn't the same as it was the year before. Yes, there were more people wishing me a happy birthday but I think it was like something that you HAD to do just because Facebook said it was my birthday. And people who hadnt talked to me in ages would wish me. It had no meaning. The expectations that I had been led into having from all the amazing years now led to disappointments. And the growing-up that I had been longing for now made me wish I was a kid again so I could feel special atleast on the day that was supposed to be mine. And then finally the twelve was start of just another day. Tic. tic. tic.