18.

Today, you would have turned 18. I can’t even fathom you at that age.

Tall? Likely. Elegant? Maybe. Same smart witty personality? God, I hope so.

I can’t imagine talking about university, dating and career paths, but that’s likely what we’d be doing. In my mind, you grow up beautifully, with few bumps in the road, happy and successful. In my heart, you’re always 11, a little girl on the verge of growing up, with the soul of a saint and huge brown eyes filled with wisdom beyond your years.

Regardless of the past or future, you’re missed. And still loved so very much.

Happy 18th birthday, M.

A Birthday.
Turning a Blind Eye.