She was a beautiful thing,
right from the start.
I remember
holding her in my arms.
She was newly born;
I was twelve.
I remember thinking
‘She’s a little bit different’
as I sat, with her
by my chest.
Her eyes were
a little too focused.
Her grasp was
a little too strong.
Her gaze was
a little too mature.
No one else noticed.
They all said I was wrong.
The adults all cooed,
the children all laughed,
and they all agreed,
though she was only
days old,
that she was destined
for a bright future.
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