It’s complicated remaining a simple child,
especially for a woman nearing 46:
loving the smell of the bread drawer
and getting frustrated at how delicate mechanical pencils are;
forgetting math but remembering birthdays;
keeping a secret island going
for decades- a place no one else is allowed, where naked joy is mandatory;
hoping for mail and ignoring disappointment;
staring so long at the sky so everything wears a halo for the afternoon;
being satisfied with made-up tunes for constantly running mental scenes that require a soundtrack in a minor key;
and trying everything by licking it first.


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