A Little Munchkin

You look at her and she is a princess dancing amongst fireflies. She spins and they twirl, she leaps and they follow. Like the soft glow of a barely new moon, she pervades you. The twinkle in her eye does not beget her true her. For she does not know who she is. Not yet anyway. But she will, in time. She might take you hand and the warmth will flow into you like a tsunami of want: want of love, want of protection, want of transient attention. And you will do naught, for you can't. You are a whim. Her whim. Her azure will delve into you and you will fight from doubling over with revelation. Her pearls will make the marionette strings pull at your rosies.

When it is enough she will fly. High. She will be a giant a head above you. You are a vessel and she your captain. Through treachery she will not pass, only tolerating the good. There is no room for evil. How could you let there be? Her music will entrance yet ground all. They, and you, can see their, and your, being's reason only through her. She is meaning, and you long for it. To taste purpose is to revile the past. But there is no point because it is pointless. Looking back is pointless. Only now can be true and she is true and what happened before is tainted; memories afflicted by the present belie truth. She is high and flighty. She enraptures all and her joy permeates throughout the hills and sands and they call back to her and she feels it.


There might be another but she is the first. It will always be so. The other(s) will come when they come and they will feel the same. New and glowing. Basking in the warmth like the mid-morning sun reaching for noon. But you won't forget. She won't forget. Her purity will ensure your standing amongst them all. They will know her but you won't let them envy. Nor will she envy them because she knows. You will never leave her or them. You will stay there when sun strays and the night unfolds; when cracks appear and the foundations crumble; and when there's no one else, just they alone, there you'll be. Waiting, like the paragon of protection you long to be.


She must come down soon and she will. With unknowing grace and simplicity. When magenta splashes smoothly across the dying horizon she will reach for you, extending an olive branch of hope and affection. No longer a giant she wants to be small. To be wrapped with love and soothed with a tale. And you'll bring her down softly, showing her the way. She can walk by herself, dance down the path, but still needs something to hold. And you give her that and she takes it and feels fine, as if the world were a constant joy. She is not scared because you are not frightened. Together you find home and she is safe and she knows it.


She finds her Gaia, waiting sagely. And to her she is drawn. To fall into her, to bathe in the warmth again. She comes back and stretches up, wanting to be just tall this time, not a giant. But just like you. Her arms fly around your neck and she squeezes so tight it's almost uncomfortable. But it's OK because it is her. She let's go but you don't. She pecks your cheek, like a chick picking up a seed, and you do the same. Then she captures you and she both looks deep inside you and doesn't. You feel her gazing upon the very essence of who you are, judging you, discerning your worthiness of her love or admiration. But this is just you contemplating yourself. She's far away from thinking about that and you know this but your mind wanders.


'Yuv you.'


'Love you too, Moo'.