prayerful of dreams - 2008-06-28
preschool princess - 2008-06-16
life with my sweetheart - 2008-04-29
the fast approach of four - 2008-04-12
lighting up my own life - 2008-03-08
2002-05-21 - 9:49 a.m.
I was this little pink cherub girl, from so long ago. I want to touch her curls, wrap them around my fingers, press my lips to her smooth rose petaled cheek and lift her into my arms, and whisper, "shhh little baby girl, it is going to be ok."
She has no secrets, of her own. She is beautiful and unspoilt and precious. Her innocence fills me with tears. I want to save her, wrap her in layers of satin, and dance her around the room, as her laughter fills everyone with joy. I want to watch her feeling the room spin, and catch the prisms of joy kalaidescoped in her green knowing eyes. I am not her, yet somehow she grew into me.
and lost herself along the way. She had a strawberry birthmark at the base of her spine, that faded with time. I gave her scars on her knees and pierced her ears and stretched her for miles with new skin and dense bones. When did her voice become so lost? When did she cease to be (me)?
An oil painted portrait of her hangs in my parent's living room, and sometimes when I am home, I feel her lingering eyes upon me. She looks at me, with a sense of muted curiousity and disappointment. She is oil and paint on thin yellowed paper, yet she radiates this tremendous light of life.
I sometimes wish I could trade places with her, on the wall. I could sit there, all day and quietly watch life pass by. ageless and timeless but always beautiful and pure.
she would not want to be me. I think she would not like what we grew into. She would want to play more and be a ballerina princess, and sleep in a pink room dreaming of frog princes yet to come. She would not want to make her bed or fold laundry and definately you would never catch her trying to clean the bathroom.
She would not want to be me. and yet, I am her.
I need to apologize to her. and tell her I am going to try harder to play more. and believe more, in fairy tales, like she does.
I am not going to stop kissing frogs. Because maybe, just maybe, someday, I will hold her again, and smooth back an unraveling golden curl from her forhead and dance around the room, with the little girl, of the little girl, with the golden green eyes.
old starlight - new starbright
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