Flower

She begins like a flower. Soft and still, like a breath of fragility.
She's so delicate that you fear to touch her. You hold her in the palm of your hand. And you marvel, for you can't help but feel so insignificant. You've created her, this soft pink miracle. You and the one you love. Yet you feel so very humbled.

Like a flower, she opens up and grows. Unfurling her petals, becoming something like and yet unlike what she began her life as. She begins to speak, in mumbles and stuttering sounds. And she laughs. She laughs constantly, a bubbling noise that builds up and up, infectious and so uplifting. You stand by and watch her take her first steps, eyes sharp for the instant her weight shifts and she falls. She doesn't though. Not the first time.

She grows taller still, and she's no longer a flower. She's less fragile, and so much more curious. Her fingers pink and questing, constantly touching, constantly sticky or stained with some substance. She still laughs - longer but less often now, her eyes constantly wary in case she's laughing at the wrong time. She's reached your hip now, and she hugs your legs tight when she's nervous. That's when you're reminded of how small she really is.

Her hair is long now, down to her waist in cornflower ripples. She's willowy and lean, all pale skin and gangly legs, not quite heavy enough for her height. She trips and falls constantly, clumsy and yet graceful. You watch her still, always ready to catch her. She never needs you to. She just gets up and laughs it off, shaking her head at yourself. You feel lost.

She's cut off her hair, so it falls to her shoulder, and she's filled out into curves and hips. She's beautiful, so very beautiful, and she's graceful like a swan. All her clumsiness is gone now, dissolved into her soft skin and her long legs that she's grown used to walking with. She laughs still, and it still bubbles. Only it's deeper now, more solid. She's tangible now, less a floating spirit and more of a human. You look at her and wonder where your flower has gone.

She began life as a flower, and she walks out of yours a woman. You still see her when she visits, laden with food and conversation. There's no doubt in your mind though that she's no longer your little girl. She's her own person, but she comes to you once more. Once more, walking small and stilted. You look at her and take her into your arms.

She'll soon have a flower of her own, and she needs guidance. You'll help her as best you can, and watch her take her journey. Like you always have.