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“Where did she go the little girl that was me and leave in her place the woman that is me?”

I want to find you. I want to find you, little girl that was me. I want to reach the bluster and the blunder. I want to reach you over all these years. I want to hold your hand. I want to stroke your hair. I want to loosen your hair from the confines of that foreboding bun. I know you like the look of yourself in that bun. Loosen it, my darling. Feel the freedom of the wind billowing through your hair. Don’t look away. I want you to look at me. No, look at me with a smile. I want you to smile. Oh dear child, I want you to smile. I want you to look at me with a smile.

Now listen to me. That silly boy you’re hankering after. The one that’s far too old and far too sophisticated for you? The one who barely notices you even though you’ve managed to convince all your friends- and yourself otherwise? Yes, yes, I know there was that one time. Don’t go mooning over him no more. Just don’t. Trust me. You don’t? Well, how about if I tell you that when you’re almost 30-years old that boy/man/person will be desperate for your attention. No, he’s married with kids. That’s not the point. Not any more. That boy you’re mooning after as a girl, he’s going to respect you as a woman.

So, don’t worry my sweet. Keep yourself together. I wish I could tell you that the years will bring less tears. You’ll always be a cry baby unfortunately. But the tears, they will become more worthy. People will die. People you love will die. They will dissipate into nothingness. Their absence will weigh on you, pull you down but time will deliver you from whatever earthly hell you find. There is always time. And there are others yet to die.

And even if you are still a cry baby, at least you’ll learn to understand your tears better. You’ll fall in love. You’ll feel an all too fleeting bliss. You will taste heartbreak. You will taste despair. And it has a taste far more enduring than the syrupy sweet of chappie between your teeth. But you’ll pick yourself up eventually. You will. You’ll live your dream, sweetheart. Even if you won’t admit you have a dream. You’ll live a dream.You’ll feel the wind in your hair.You’ll make a friend, or two, or three. And you’ll be relieved to know you’re not quite so alone.  You’ll stretch your mind. You’ll find succour in ideas. But there will always be difficulty. There will be sorrow. But it gets better. Eventually it will become easier.

Now if only you’d look at me with a smile.

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