You always said you wouldn’t reach forty. I always used to tell you not to be silly. Why did you have to go prove yourself right pixie?

Today you should be forty. You should be complaining that you can’t be; you should be partying hard to celebrate. You should be in my arms, still as wondrous as ever whatever your age.

None of those things were to be; instead I just hold your memory. You never will be old.

Tonight my glass is raised. Chin-chin.