Today, as every day, we read books. Hundreds of words tumbling past her, everyday. She catches a lot.
She's lying in her bed, her pale skin warmed by the light of the yellow curtains, sunflowered by its rays. Her ponytails are high up, askew, tiny pea-shoot tendrils of her wispy little girl hair writhe in every direction. She is gorgeous.
She still sucks her thumb, no matter how much I inveigle her to stop. It makes little squishing noises and is like a little song she sings while she sleeps. I watch her for some time, her eyes quiver in dream. I kiss the finger that remains pressed to my lip where it last fell in her dreamy descent and I try to slip out. She awakens, her eyes flutter open, her lashes two swift butterflies. "Stay here" she says.
And I do.
