she stands so close to me,
our forearms touching.
her hands are absentmindedly playing with her dress.
and she asks if she can sit on my lap.
she's seven and when did she become so tall?
when did she grow to the point that she no longer folds herself into me?
it's all moving so fast.
too fast.
and she laughs at me when i whisper it,
when i ask her to stop growing.
when i ask her to make time stop,
or at least put an encyclopedia on top of her head.
her gap-tooth smile stretches wide across her face,
her freckles, all sprinkled, stand out against her fair skin -
and i want to cup these moments
and find a way to dam up the spilling of seconds that just keep ticking by.
but instead, she's one more day closer to eight,
one more day lived and passed through
and i'm not going to get those moments back.
i want those moments back,
if just to live them out better.
if just to remember to kiss the tip of her nose one. more. time.
tomorrow, i want to laugh with her more,
to read just one more chapter,
to pull her onto my lap,
before she doesn't fit anymore...
