I think those might be eyes like mine, but I’m not sure. I don’t look into my own eyes nearly as often as she demands I look into hers.
Bold, loud, rambunctious. Adjectives I’ve never used to describe myself. She is a mystery to me sometimes.
She uses my name as an excuse to avoid things she’d rather not do, invoking me like a charm against her perceived enemies… Going to bed, taking responsibility for things, being told to eat food she’s not interested in.
Her opinions are strong and her voice carries across a crowded room. She feels things deeply, passionately, and often fleetingly. She flares up with rage like the dragon for whom she’s named, but is known as a peacemaker to many.
Five and a half, and already more herself than I was at thirty. She takes the things she learns to heart. I hope that she will never be broken.