Dear Girl

How beautiful my daughter is, as she bends her head over her book.  Her pale skin, her startling black lashes, her precisely cut profile lit all over by an aura of light.  Not a child, yet not a woman; just a silly kid, licking raspberry juice off her dirty fingers while she reads.

She wears bright clear colors, bright like her mind, vibrant as she is, strong like her own strength, simple as she sees the world.  On or off.  Up or down.  Totally awesome or a total failure.

That silly zombie song she’s been singing is running through my head.

I wonder why that song suddenly unleashed the performer in her, and that sweet voice,  silent for so many years.  She thinks it’s so funny, she’s grinning away the whole time, and sometimes she styles and belts it out like a girl band rocker.  So sweet, so awkward, so exhilarating and terribly frightening, this brainy vulnerable girl of mine.

I’m eternally trying to catch her before she falls, my heart pierced by love and fear.  May hers remain unscathed.

 

 

 

One Comment:

  1. So beautifully written, it makes me remember moments of awe when I would look at my children.

    Also, you may be an imperfect perfectionist and I think it might be better than a perfect perfectionist.

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