with sprinkles on.
I think if I asked her about me she would say quite simply, my daughter is an anomaly.
April
I am trying to ingrain in my mind the image of a boy wearing gloves, waving through a railing at my train. I am thinking about my Nana in the sky; it is a child-like thought.
At the same time, to acknowledge a feather is to indulge in some soft part of what everything would have us suppress. He could learn about pain and smoke one day, but for now, he believes his parents when they tell him, he was born from a hug.
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