ad multos annos

ephemeral, adj.
I was coming back from the bathroom. You had just checked your email. I was walking to bed, but you intercepted me, kissed me, then clasped my left hand in your right hand and put your left hand on my back. We started slow-dancing. No music, just nighttime. You leaned your head into mine and I leaned my head into yours. Dancing cheek to cheek. Revolving slowly, eyes closed, heartbeat measure, nature’s hum. It lasted the length of an old song, and then we stopped, kissed, and the world resumed. 

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p. 84 of The Lover’s Dictionary (A Novel) by David Levithan. 2011, Picador. Farrar, Straus & Giroux. NY.

It’s always provocative to write when the sentiment embodied tithers so close to home. I am but an ant atop an apple, overwhelmed and mesmerized by its sapphire sheen, essentially incapable of describing the apple’s entirety. And to the ant, the vertiginous experience of the apple is ephemeral, shifting and transient, passing and delicately evolving, because it is beyond him, his capacity and cognition.

But, if there is anything that is certain and indisputable, it is that the ant fancies the apple, in its insurmountable exquisiteness – from the thick leathery peel to the succulent flesh beneath, from the bitter seeds and core, and even to the occasional jovial vermes' elated company. What I am poorly trying to express and articulate is that you are the endearing Malusia to my Formicidaean eyes. So allow me the indulgence of capturing this moment, passing and elusive as it is, to place a mark upon its hilt and document it, as moments of such significance must be, to be remembered and be rejoiced. Happy birthday, my beloved Froyo.

Photograph above is author's own.

Ad Multos Annos - Latin. Loosely translated as "To many years." A wish for a long life. Similar to "Many happy returns!" as a colloquial/ informal equivalent to a birthday greeting in Medieval Rome. Refer to translation here.