instantly, i love this little girl a billion and a half times more than she will ever love me or anyone else, probably.
She approaches in a pink shirt with white text sprawled across the front. Her hair is parted sloppy almost down the middle - the wind crossed and tangled it.
Laceless yellow shoes.
She steps in front of me and orders a cold coffee drink that only a child could want and her voice is gruff - slightly gravelly and deep for her small body.
Brown shorts.
Her head: not sized to her frame - bigger than it should be; and her eyes: light brown and golden - looks up to me and into my own brown-green eyes.
Everything that makes me want her to write about touching the setting sun and painting the pink clouds with a boar-hair brush against the baby boy blue.
Everything that makes me want to speak with her and never at her; mention finches and the flames they swallow and jesus and the fire he breathes in the same sentence.
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