This post is part of a series of short stories and poems.
Day Thirty Five
When I look
at you, sometimes I feel as though my heart could burst from love for you, from
pride. From your beauty and cuteness. You are the most confounding little
bundle of mischief, a button-pusher extraordinaire. You smash through
boundaries your sister tiptoes around. You break rules. You are a force to be
reckoned with. A hurricane. A great wind,
with her possibility for damage and simultaneous quiet power. You will not be
duped. You look straight through
people. Perceptive to the core. Quiet. Watchful. Restrained. What will come of
you, Little One? May your powers be used for good. May we lead and guide you
and hone that raw steel into a beautiful sword. Not one that hurts, but one
that divides soul and spirit. Your eyes hold secrets. You are loyal to the end.
Great mysteries are wrapped up inside you, little Rosy. You have the fight in
you. May I never strip that from you, but celebrate it. People love you from
the outset. You possess a je ne sais quoi.
You are captivating. I am lucky to know you. You delight in mischief. Your joy
bubbles over in your laughter. Your skin is magic. You are quick as a whip, and
funny. Really funny. Never lose your curiosity, it is a gift. What will come of
you, Little One?
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