Standing in the bathroom,
She watches the mimic.
Hunting for imperfections,
Her hands smooth the wrinkles.
A smile grows and dimples appear.
Standing tall in sparkling shoes,
Spinning on one toe,
Her skirt takes flight.
Graceful lines spill from her arms.
Finally she proclaims;
“I do look 8 today, I really do!”
She notices me watching,
And she squeals with excitement.
Then springs through the doorway,
Arms wrapped around me now,
Burying her smile into my chest.
She trembles with exhilaration.
“Eight years” I tell her,
“Have gone too quickly”.
“Can it be my birthday tomorrow too?”
She says in a muffled voice.
Still squeezing tight,
Latched on to me,
Keeping herself from floating off.
Finally she let go.
She buzzed about the room.
Pouncing from the ottoman,
Landing on a mountain of pillows.
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