She calls for me when she wake up, my daughter, and she will accept no other
The shade pulled, curtain down letting slivers of light cut through to the darkness
She is lying beneath a pile of jumbled blankets, knitted for her and sewn for me and given to us
A patchwork of love and thought
I reach to pull her to me, her slight weight pulling me towards her
And I bury my face in her sweet hair
The soft sweaty creases of her neck
And smell the ever-so magically sweet scent that her own body has
Strawberry Chapstick
The exact smell
Though I have not had it for years
Every single morning, and every nap she ever took
Strawberry chapstick
What a sweet smell my baby has
1 comment:
Sounds perfect.
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