these are the golden years, the golden day, she says like the sunrise or the sunset? i say both. or neither. she says do you miss it? she says your youth, i mean. i know. i miss it. i am still young. it has been torn from my chest and weighs on my hips and i miss it. i say how was your birthday? she says better than before, i say. before what? the moment it became my birthday. were you gifted anything? she says on which birthday? i say all of them. or none. she says do you think we could preserve this moment, cast it in gold or bronze or iron? she says no. who said that? i pick up the mirror and drag it home. ten, nineteen, two thousand and one.