Where She Waited for Me

She’s smaller than I remember—

bright red curls brushing her shoulders,

barely taller than her siblings.

.

Look at her—

so happy,

so full of life,

with an imagination wide enough

to swallow the world.

.

I watch her play alone on the playground:

the slide is her bedroom,

the pirate plank, her kitchen.

She’s just gotten home from work,

pulling uncut keys

from invisible pockets

to unlock her ladder,

then rope swings into dinnertime.

.

God, she’s adorable.

So ready to grow up.

.

Her imagination is her sanctuary—

a refuge she runs to

whenever the world feels slow.

She never needs much.

The trees above her kitchen

offer just enough shade.

She’d live there for days

if anyone would let her.

.

She’s never heard the word insecurity.

She doesn’t know what too much means.

She is loud, wild,

brilliantly weird—

unapologetically herself.

.

She loves being alone

because that’s where she shines.

She is everything.

She is perfect.

.

I lost her for a little while.

But now—

now I feel her coming back.

.

And God,

I missed her

so much.