But a number ...
My girlfriend turned 30 in August, and we celebrated the occasion by decorating the carpet with wrapping paper and dining in style into the evening hours. I knew it was a special day for her, and I wanted to make sure to reciprocate the joy I feel in knowing her as my closest companion. It was a personal goal of mine for her to be swept away into the first day of her 30s, and in return for my contributions, she humbled me with the knowledge that she had already received the gift she wanted most ... the comfort of a quality relationship.
Now although she might claim otherwise, I sensed she was dreading the day as it approached. She spoke affectionately of the period of her life that will forever be coined as her 20s, but seemed bewildered at times as to how the stage could have passed with such unwavering swiftness, and that some old bag of bones was looming on the horizon, ready to take her place. I reassured her often that through the ages, the clock has longed to stumble upon that 13th token but has yet to find success, many times over-catching a fresh scent where the initial search had begun.
I’m glad to inform you that as we woke on her birthday morning, I found my girlfriend had transitioned into her most recent year here as smoothly as a fan blade rotates around the ceiling. She had not turned to stone but into a diamond, more stunning than the day before.
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