This isn’t a typical birthday post. It is your birthday, yes, but I think I’d write this even if it weren’t even older, and in turn, even more hobo-ey. Hoboish? Hoboesque? Whatever.
Unlike posts of old, I’m aiming to keep this short and sweet. (Oh. I failed.) I’m not here to share endless memories from our childhoods or explain your genius to the nonbelievers, but to just thank you for being you. To thank you for always being there. To thank you for looking out for me and loving me like only a big brother could; better than anyone else in the world. I haven’t had the easiest go of it lately, and without batting an eye you’ve put your own things on hold to come along and make sure I’m okay. And I am okay, but only because you have been here, keeping me tied together. Thank you for keeping me in once piece, and keeping me focused on what I need to do. And for your weird obsession with wasabi, the way you sing 80s hair metal at me when you’ve had a bottle and a half of wine, and that stupid beard of yours.
Now I just have to make sure you're okay. You will be, you know. We always come out on top, don't we? No matter how many bottles, hearts or faces get broken in the process. I have faith in you - just try and have a little yourself. You're too perfect to be this sad for any longer.
Happy Birthday, August. I’m sorry we’re spending much of it on a plane, but it’s longer that way – it’ll only be noon when we hit LA, despite it feeling like 9 at night. Lots of extra times- lots of sushis! And we’ll be home soon, and everyone all be there - I’ll take you to celebrate properly, in Adelaide, to that seafood place you (we) love. I hope 26 brings you all the happiness you can stand, and all the goodness in the world. You deserve nothing less.
I love you, you crazy old man.
xoxo, forever and a half,
Your Rooroo
