i remember you.
worn, checkered vans carrying you through the city as you clung to grandpa.
you craved individuality, even when the word was unknown to you.

i remember you.
a book, or three, stuffed next to a three ringed binder inside your bright red backpack. perfectly organized, perfectly content.
you craved knowledge, just for the sake of it.

i remember you.
picking oranges, drying your hair in the sunlight, refusing to come inside until the moon began to peak.
you craved healing, and felt yourself whole only when coupled with the earth.

i remember you.
you pushed that little boy down because he hurt the girl in your class who never spoke. what was her name?
you craved justice, the world may not be fair, but you chose to be.

i remember you.
clutching your mother, wiping her tears as she laid in your twin sized bed. she slept there for years.
you craved compassion, even when you were shown none.

i remember you.
standing up to the man who beat you, submission as foreign to you as a father’s love.
you craved fearlessness, and, my girl, you became it.

i remember you.
with a smile that stopped time, a smile that brought life.
you craved joy, no moment too small and every moment worth gratitude.

i remember you.
with your window always down, forever asking mother if she could turn up the radio a bit louder.
you craved adventure, and who are you to be denied?

i remember you.
alone in a room, the apartment empty. triple checking if the front door was locked, not knowing where they all disappeared to, why they went without you.
you craved safety, and you deserved it.

now, i stare at my daughters, watching in wonder. little and brave, headstrong and joyful. untamed curls and wild laughs.

a flooding of peace that i’m still getting used to, witnessing the childhood you never received, but somehow created within yourself… i remember you.

thank you.