She loves coloring.
She loves Disney movies, especially Peter Pan.
She loves stuffies and snuggling.
She loves twinkling lights.
She loves bubble baths.
She loves being read to.
She loves tickles and little pinches.
She loves the care bears.. A LOT.
She’s a little on the shy side.
I used to let her run free more.
She would come out and play when she liked without so many restrictions.
Now, she is on a very tight leash. She can’t wander far. Her leash is so tight that she no longer makes it to the surface.
She reaches out her hand, hoping that I’ll pull her out, but the longer I go without grabbing it, the farther away she gets.
She’s giving up on me.
She’s giving up on her.
The older I get, the more she disappears and I know soon, she may be too far to ever find again.
Sometimes, I miss her mischievous ways. I miss her giggle. Her brattiness. I miss her. She doesn’t understand why she can’t make her way back. I cannot allow her to, it’s too risky, she’s too innocent, too vulnerable, she’d be too alone with no one to take care of her the way she’d need.
No, she doesn’t understand, but this is for her own good. She’s safer inside, safer buried away. Some days she tries to fight her way out, but it’s becoming less frequent. Soon, there will come a day where she no longer fights at all, it is coming..it is coming.
Perhaps, I am too grown to ever allow myself to be little again. Perhaps, I am so out of touch with her, that I couldn’t save her even if I tried. Perhaps, leaving “little me” behind will be one of the greatest tragedies of all.