The little girl keeps staring at me.
Her hair is blonde and long, and curls into soft waves.
It’s wispy along her forehead, which is so light and translucent that I can see her cheeks flush.
She has a little round heart mouth that is closed tight, and pale blue eyes that follow my hands as they bring my fork to my mouth.
She doesn’t look away even though I’m now looking back.
She looks familiar, like an angel I saw in a Bible storybook with lots of pictures. It had little wings and was being told the story of Jesus’ birth.
She looks also like all the pretty dolls at the toy store, the ones from the commercials, the doll that maybe comes in other colors that you won’t see unless you stop by.
She looks like a girl from a movie I watched once. She looks like a girl from a bunch of movies I’ve watched.
Sometimes
in the movie
she is an orphan, sometimes a dancer, sometimes a kid secret agent, sometimes a rich princess, sometimes a misunderstood daughter and sometimes the girl who summons wind machines every time she walks into a room. Sometimes she grows up to be a star, or a business woman, or a black widow, or a top scientist or a superhero with a mask.
Or maybe I’m thinking about Cupid, wow she looks JUST like Cupid, adorable and round with healthy, rosy cheeks and a bow mouth that purses above a button chin.
And then I realize
that I don’t want to imagine from where she might recognize
Me.
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