You Are Older Than You Think

Bouncy, white curls

Formed perfectly by the hours

At night

Spent sleeping on her pillow.

Little brown freckles, gentle smile.

The kind of laugh in the air

That you couldn't deny.

Small hands, balled in fists

Pummeling my arm for hiding her stuffed animal.

I know it's okay,

She'll be over it in five and a half minutes anyways.

Her anger never lasts.

Footprints, finger paints, big blue eyes, bitten fingernails and looking up at me to say

“Please don't grow up.”

Strong, sassy.

Curls turned to long blonde waves,

Eyelashes messily coated in mascara.

Brown, because it's the darkest my parents feel is appropriate.

Class president, seventh grade.

Big smile.

I wonder now

If when she asked me not to grow up,

Had she forgotten,

She is too?