Timmy tried his hardest to blow out the fifteen flickering candles. He huffed and puffed...but to no avail.
He glanced at his mother who had spent hours slaving away to bake the beautiful cake, and her expression made him feel unbearably guilty.
Timmy's mother stared sadly at the unyielding flames that barely faltered in the face of Timmy's feeble attempts to snuff them out.
She blinked a few times and the first tears started falling down her face. Whispering "Happy Birthday, Timmy," she summoned a gust of wind and the dancing lights dissipated into puffs of smoke.
Timmy didn't understand why he couldn't do that. It happened every year: his mother baked a perfect cake, he failed to blow out the candles, and she cried.
The only thing that changed was the number of candles. Timmy went to go hug his mother...but to no avail. He merely drifted through her, and he didn't understand that either.