Flashback
June 25, 2014
Everyday, upon waking, I gaze at my precious, cuddly, eight year old daughter. She has the most brilliant white blonde hair that shines so deep. Her skin is perfect with a sweet dusting of summer freckles.
I call her my missing puzzle piece because each night I go to bed without her, and every morning when I wake up, I feel her in the exact, albeit miniature position I’m in. Her body snug against mine and so warm.
Part of me thinks, “Hey, you’re eight, stay in your own bed!!” But another part knows that this is just temporary.
She stirs in the middle of the night and walks to me half asleep.
At first her shuffling feet would wake me up (and the dog too). Then I could no longer hear her, but sense her. I would barely open my eyes, pull back the covers and let her tiny body melt into mine.
Now I don’t even wake up. She’s just there in the morning.
The exact, yet flawless, version of me.
