guilt the song

I used to see a little girl. Not like a hallucination; it was like one of those Harry Potter gifs that looped endlessly. I guess she was taking a school photo. Maybe? She leaned against a wall. Her hair was long and black and waved and she wore these glasses that were maybe a little too big for her face. Every time this image comes to mind I see her instantly look at me, hands behind her back, and shrugging with a smile as if I had just got her with a trick question. She’s wearing a white shirt with a blue sweater with this yellow pattern on it. A little red skirt, cute as could be, ruffled or whatever you call that texture. Black buckled shoes and her legs wrapped in black whatever. I don’t know what you call these things, but I’m pretty sure it’s a uniform.

She’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen in my mind’s eye. Even though I can only hold it for a moment at a time, I understand every feature she has. Those eyes, the curve of her face and her shape of her nose and the cut of her chin and her ears. Some of the other things are arguably mine, but that smile, that same sunshine smile from my mom but with an accent on it. That’s my girl. My girl, my flesh and blood.

I started seeing her after I had to reckon the very serious possibility. It was a sudden intuition, maybe a splash in the stream of time or something. I try not to be a coward and I am succeeding with increased regularity, and this was one of those things that completely steeled me for whatever happened. I cherished this image and held it in my heart. No matter what happened, I had that picture to remind me of what things may yet come. When things started getting bad I’d see her tangled up in black, caught in a bunch of nothing and being pulled back into it. She never had a name and she’ll never be. Worse than dead, she’ll never be.

I’ve cried for this girl. I tried to reach out and grab her. I tried as hard as I could for his girl crying wordlessly for her dad. I like to think in that world where she got to be, that she’s a light in the world. I hope that me is doing a good job. I don’t see her anymore, just the memory of seeing her sometimes. I’m sorry, baby girl. Me and your mom just couldn’t get you here from where we met.

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