Before the world had learned your name,
the stars conspired and arranged
a soul so rare, so wildly bright,
they set her loose on March the First.
You are the warmth in winter rooms,
the laugh that breaks a heavy air,
the kind of person people mean
when they say someone really cares.
The universe runs on math and fire —
on gravity and ancient light —
but somewhere in its grand design
it paused to get you exactly right.
Your number is the six — the heart,
the healer, keeper of the flame,
the one who shows up, holds the door,
and loves without a thought of gain.
So here is what the cosmos knows
and wanted written in the sky:
the world is genuinely better
because you chose to come alive.
Happy Birthday, Samantha.
You are absolute.
You are beauty.
You are loved.