Little

When I was little, I was the curly haired girl.

It was a point of fascination, my hair, a reason to love me more than the reasons that already existed inside my little girl heart.

I wonder, now, how many adults looked into my eyes and really saw me there. Looking back, my hair was the perfect ‘surface conversation’ starter.

And then there was me, waiting somewhere inside to be seen.

Yesterday, a beautiful little girl at the pool was in tears. One of the soft ones. Like me. The adults saw her, of course, but they didn’t really see her, I don’t think.

I wished she would look at me.

I wished that she would see that I could see her. And that I thought she was beautiful just the way that she was.

I would have told her that she’d probably always cry a little more than some, but she would also be kindness, and heart, and magic.

I’m pretty sure that would have made her smile.