On this day in 1952 a shooting star was born. It soared to
the skies touching each and every person lucky to walk its path. Its shine was
too intense to remain. Lucky was every person who bathed in its light. I was
the luckiest of all. The ninth of January remains the day that made my happiness
and bliss a reality. My star still guides me, soothing the pain of separation.
Happy birthday my love!
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